As The Seasons Decay
by Goddessnmb1
Summary: This story will go where the muses take me. Hermione is Head Girl and in her 7th year, Voldemort is steadily gaining power, and Snape needs Hermione's help on his latest Potion reasearch. What does it all add up to? Read and find out...
1. Chapter One

Hey all. This is my first attempt at fanfiction. Current rating is PG-13, but it may move up, it all depends. I obviously own none of this except the plot, they belong to people like JK Rowling and Warner Bros. And people. Anyhow, I love reviews, and all comments including flames can be sent to amariran@yahoo.com Please do, because although I have most of the enxt bit typed up, I can't post it if no one is reading it. And if anyone has any suggestions for a title...I hate mine. Thanks, and enjoy reading (hopefully)

Hermione smiled as she felt the soft tendrils of light flickering over her face. Light…? Her bed was in the Head Girl's room. In the interior of the castle so that she was easily connected to all areas of the school that she needed to be. 

She cracked one eye open, blinking to get the sleep-dust out of it. Then she squeezed it shut, as tightly as she could, so tight that the black underneath her eyelids turned fuzzy and dissolved into a dancing hedgehog. Laughing at her. Mocking her. Please, God, tell her that she hadn't just seen what she thought she had. She was never going to trust her eyes again. That was a horrible, terrible trick to play on her. And this early in the morning. Finally convinced, she opened her eyes, confident that it had all just been a vision. Oh, damn. Oh, damn. Maybe if she said it enough times, it really would be true.

"Hi." Her voice cracked, dry from sleep. "Uh…" she honestly could not think of a single graceful way to say this "what happened last night?"

Her boyfriend looked at her with vestiges of hurt lurking behind the brave front in his eyes. 

"You went out after our fight and I think you got drunk because the next thing I know is that you're in here and yelling at me and then you were pulling off your clothing and then…" Hermione's breath caught and her mind jumped out of her skull and ran around in little tiny circles screaming that it hadn't happened, it hadn't happened "then you collapsed. I put you in my bed." Here, he smirked a little bit, as though he knew what waking up had done to her nerves. And the massive hangover that she was just now beginning to feel. 

She'd never gotten drunk in her entire life. She doubted that, now, she ever would again. Not with the way that things had shaped up so far. It was so hard, sometimes, being his girlfriend. A lot was expected of her. A lot of assumptions were made about her. And she hated them all. And lately, she'd begun to even hate him.

"You knew how upset that would make me. You knew and you did it anyways. You bastard." She wanted to yell, but her headache wanted to subsume every particle of grey matter that she possessed.

"Oh, come on. Not only is it your fault for getting drunk, but you know how frustrated your decision makes me," he sneered at her, infusing each syllable with heavy scorn.

'Well, excuse me for wanting to be a virgin when I get married. Sue me, why don't you? Or rape me or just…GOD! What's wrong with you lately, Harry? Suddenly you turn 18 and I'm not good enough for you?" She was yelling now, more important things than hangovers on her mind, tears of rage throwing rock salt on her bleeding gash. She knew, two months ago that this was a chance she was taking, but she had assumed that she was different from all the other girls that the famous Harry Potter had dated and thrown aside, no relationship lasting longer than a month. She had assumed that as one of his two best friends she knew him better than anyone. She had quickly found out that she hadn't known him at all and she had been paying harshly for it in the past two weeks. Just yesterday she had discovered that not only had Harry been neglecting her, but that he'd been banging some cute, black-haired Ravenclaw slut when he should have been meeting her in the library. They'd had a massive row, after which Harry had promised that he had already broken things off and she had gone to the Three Broomsticks, using Head Girl privileges to solace herself in a bottle of that delicious sorrow-drowner she had heard Parvati and Lavender surreptitiously gossiping about in the corridor the other day. She had filed it for future reference, and was glad that she had.

A soft knock was heard on the door, a knock that sounded special, like a code. Hermione was almost totally unsurprised to see Harry's golden Quidditch-star tanned face blanch as sickly whiter as the Gryffindor Ghost. 

"I'm busy…you'll have to come back later," he shouted, throwing a worried look in her direction. She would have rolled her eyes if the pain in her chest wasn't suddenly requiring all of her attention. He'd never been a decent liar. And, apparently, never a decent person, either.

"No, Harry. I think we're just about done, if you know what I mean. Let her in."

"I'm sure she's just asking about the Quidditch game the other day…oooh," his voice trailed off, realizing he'd been easily trapped.

Hermione just nodded. 

"Yes, I'm sure that that is it. Well, I'll leave you two to work it out then. And just for the record, Harry Potter- this would be the first time in your life that you've been broken up with instead of the other way around," Hermione snapped, straightening her clothing and carefully not flinging the door open. She didn't pause for that cliché vengeful look at the doorway, but went through, almost running over the Ravenclaw girl. Harry had obviously given her the password to Gryffindor house, and it was in her rights as Head Girl to exact penalties for this, but she let it slide in all other inter-House relationships and she wasn't so petty as to suddenly change her rules for him. 

She knew that she looked like a fright, but she couldn't stay here in the house that saw nothing but good in the famed Harry Potter, a house that would turn against her faster than a pack of rabid dogs if she were to openly voice her hate for him. 

"C'n I have a…nuther? Please?" she asked, then turned away from the bar, forgetting that she had just ordered yet another drink. She tried to scan the room, but succeeded only in nearly making herself sick. It was all the room's fault, really. It was spinning way too fast and it had gotten much too hot in the…several hours that she'd been here. She wasn't even sure if she could have answered what had driven her on a bright sunny day into the depths of the Three Broomsticks that students never, or rarely, traversed. It wasn't that she personally felt the loss of Harry all that much. The truth was, she'd been pressured into dating him, pressured into snagging him as a husband. Wouldn't it be just perfect if Harry mimicked his father and married his best friend, the brilliant but slightly outcast muggle-born witch? Everyone had just seen it as a natural conclusion that after what was chucklingly referred to as "Harry's adolescent flings" they would settle down. Naturally, Hermione wasn't even drawn into the equation. Of course she would jump at the chance to marry Wizard Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor; rich, handsome, and famous Harold James Potter. And with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named running about loose despite the Minister's best efforts to cover it all up, Harry needed someone who had brains at his side permanently. 

Hermione was all for the common good and everything, and she had genuinely liked Harry, if in a rather platonic way, before this whole thing, but while she was not one to conform to general pressures, Ron's convincing had pushed her into it. Not that she could blame him. He and Ella, a quiet but very nice Hufflepuff in their year, were going to be wed in June, a few weeks after Graduation. He just wanted the same happiness for his two best friends. Unfortunately, everyone pegged Graduation Day as the prime time for Voldemort (Hermione considered it ridiculous to use a euphemism) to strike, and no amount of wards or protections could block the Dark Lord at his most determined.

She wanted another drink. She was sick of the circular path her thoughts had been following all day. She swiveled her stool back to the bar, feeling inordinately proud when she managed not to fall off. She blearily focused her eyes on the glass and shakily reached out to pick it up. It was very, very heavy.

"Now…why cn't I…pick the damnnnn thingie up?" she muttered, confused.

"Perhaps because I am holding it down?" She knew that voice, silky and threatening and caressing and…she shivered. 

"Who…you?"

"My God, Miss Granger. You will immediately stop trying to lift this glass up and accompany me to the dungeons for a massive dose of the Anti-Inebrio potion. And I hope the batch I made the other day tastes as nasty as it possibly can. What on earth has made you into this sniveling, pathetic, drunken creature?" Professor Snape, whom she had now vaguely identified as the voice, pulled her pliant form off the barstool and harshly dragged her down the streets of Hogsmeade.

"NOT Harry," she shouted emphatically, not noticing the strange looks the few people about on the Hogsmeade streets gave the pair. Snape, however did.

"Keep your voice down, you silly girl. All right, if its isn't young Potter, than what has reduced you to this?" Snape snapped.

"NOT HARRY!!" she yelled as loudly as she could, not precisely sure why she was yelling or what she was saying.

"Silencio," the irritated Professor muttered. It seemed to be the only way he was going to get Miss. Granger to shut up, and he took a certain perverse pleasure in hearing her struggle against his charm. Simply because the consummate know-it-all could not, for once, help herself out of this situation.

At long last, Snape got them into the castle and his rooms without anyone seeing him. It wasn't overly difficult as he had had so much practice after Dark Revels and summonings by Lord Voldemort. He set the nearly comatose girl in the solitary, well-sued wingback chair near the fireplace, and enormous monstrosity which he had not in his nearly two decades of teaching, found time to transfigure. He had but to supposed that he had grown some sort of attachment to the thing, with its twining serpents and massive proportions. However, now was not the time for contemplating the furnishings of his room. He knew that he had the potion here somewhere, if he could just remember precisely where…

Ah, of course. It was in the cabinet next to the wall-to-wall bookshelves, along with, ironically, his favorite decanter of brandy and a knife. Whatever he felt like or needed to use after a meeting with the Death Eaters. He quickly summoned the small bottle to his palm along with a small measuring vial. After pouring what he judged to be the correct amount in the vial and returning the potion, he turned back to the young witch whom he'd left for just a few moments. Yet those moments seemed to have made all the difference.

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*Gasp* what happened? I actually didnt mean to write the last bit, looked at my screen, and discovered that my damn muses had taken over and written for me. So, tell me what you think and if I should continue:D 


	2. Chapter Two

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He turned back to the young witch whom he'd left for just a few moments. Yet those moments seemed to have made all the difference.

Severus Snape rushed towards the chair with horror in every lineament of his being. He knew well the unnatural slump of her body and could hear even from across the room the totally irregular pattern of her breathing. He knew too that this was not the type of reaction that a Muggle might get from an overdose of alcohol. A witch, especially a trying-to-mature one, was particularly susceptible to the dangers of alcohol poisoning. Aside from the obvious side-affect of death, there could be madness, partial or total loss of memory, and even the complete stripping of one's power. He cursed every God he knew of for Granger's stupidity and set about preparing the complex spells and counters that must fight this off, working as fast as he could, feeling each moment pass by like the future might for what should be one of Hogwart's most brilliant and successful students.

Three hours later, he sat back on his heels and wiped some perspiration from his brow. He had done enough to stabilize her, enough so that she would not likely face any really serious repercussions from her thoughtlessness. Enough that she could be safely moved to the Infirmary. He sighed and, keeping his eye on her form the entire time, got up and reached for the small silver bowl on his mantelpiece.

"Albus Dumbledore," he called into the flames as the pinch of Floo powder he threw in changed their color.

"Hello Severus. Is anything wrong? Not that I don't enjoy your company…." Severus never asked for company unless there was something of vital importance.

"You know that I went in search of Miss Granger, correct?" Dumbledore nodded. "Well, I found her extremely inebriated, so I took her back to my rooms to sober her up with an _Anti-inebrio _potion- I know that the Infirmary has none as I haven't found time to make any for Poppy. I turned away to get the dose for her, and she had slipped into an alcohol-poisoning state. I have finally stablilized her, so if you could call Poppy and have her get Granger out of my rooms and into where she would be better taken care of, that would be wonderful," Snape concluded.

Dumbledore's face held a lot of concern over his Head Girl's state, but he knew that she was in capable hands with Severus. He agreed and summoned Poppy Pomfrey, who Flooed into the Head of Slytherin's chambers in such a state of concerned excitability that Snape was reduced to lurking in the corner as she ascertained that everything had been done correctly. As she finally had the girl ready and was about to go through the fireplace with her, she remembered that she owed Severus a thank-you for a job so well done. She raised her head to give her commendation, but he was no where to be seen. She shrugged and with a muttered "_Infirmary_" and a careful grip on the girl, went to complete the task that he had begun. 

Severus Snape, one of the best potion masters in the world, was sulking. Although to be accurate, he would have bitten the head off of anyone who dared to suggest such a preposterous thing. He considered himself to be brooding, mind you the difference. What would cause someone as bright as he allowed himself to admit the Granger girl was (Gryffindor and all) to risk the destruction of herself in such a rash manner? He was sunk into the depths of the green plush wingback chair in the small living room of his quarters. The very chair which had held the nearly lifeless body of the very subject he was musing over less than two hours ago. He was not nearly so stupid as to believe that her emphatic insistence over its not being about that git Potter was true, but he couldn't help but think that there had to be something else to bring the girl so low. 

Why was he spending so much time thinking about the situation? Because, Severus, he told himself wryly, the girl nearly died in this exact spot. Of course you should spend a little time thinking about it. It was simply that he had not had much occasion to think about anyone other than himself in a long time. In fact, he could not remember the last time that he had thought about someone in any way but to wish them dead. The last included himself. Snape rubbed his left forearm as he always did when he thought about the stupid decisions he had made in his life. Perhaps that was why he had been so upset when he'd seen Granger in the bar, drunk out of her mind. He didn't want her to do something stupid that she would regret all the rest of her days like he had.

He could not, however, claim inebriation as the reason he had committed the act that forever damned him, if not the world's eyes, then his own. Forever. He had been 18, fresh out of Hogwarts and eager for a new experience. He had more money than Malfoy, and probably quadruple the brains, but his family had not the connections of Lucius. Nor had Snape the characteristics which made others so eager to accept Malfoy. Severus was harsh, arrogant, possessing of superior intelligence and always ready to make others aware of it. Not to mention he did not have even a modicum of Lucius Malyfoy's Slytherin Golden Boy looks, with a perfectly sculpted face and physique. Too studious to bother with anything else, he had shrouded himself in voluminous black robes, forgotten to bother with brushing his hair, and simply neglected himself. He turned around one day and realized that he didn't have a single friend in the world. And the disturbing part was that he smiled.

Without anyone, he was free. He was sure that as soon as he graduated, there would a multitude of options for some one with his brilliance, and if there was not, he could study anywhere he wished. At the time, Slytherin Common Room chat centered around the most prominent up-and-coming wizard of the day, a wizard who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and styled himself 'Lord Voldemort.' Secretly, Severus wanted more than anything to be employed by this man who was more than a man and told his followers that they would be too. A man whose wish for knowledge led him to the ends of the Earth. Snape found it easy to dismiss the rumors of torture and killing and purification of wizard blood in favor of the ideals that he sought after. Perhaps a few muggles would have to be killed in order to get powerful snobs like the Malfoys and Parkinsons into Lord Voldemort's grasp, but Severus knew that that was just a front for what he really wanted to do. He meant to be right there with the Dark Lord as the experimentation began.

He had been unsurprised but happy when he was approached by a short, nondescript man with the Dark Mark on his arm. They had apparated to the current quarters of the Lord, and Severus had undergone the Tests of Loyalty to Lord Voldemort. The Tests were designed to weigh the balance of Light and Dark in a person's soul, and they were cruel, and they were difficult- and Severus passed them with flying colors. Voldemort had rejoiced, for here was a brilliant young man who embodied almost all that he could want. He was sure that given time, his curious distaste for the Dark Revels and the entrapment and torture of Aurors would disappear. But it never did, and Severus looked around one day, just as he had at school, and had another damning revelation. It had all been a lie. The knowledge had never come, the killings had never stopped. And he had been right there with them the entire way. He may not have relished the death and merciless torture as Nott and Avery had, but he had no less participated with alacrity. Unlike his first realization, it had not come when he was alone in a dark room listening to the chatter and gossip of the students below. It had emerged in front of a Dark Altar, while he was (WHILE) raping a virgin girl for some Dark Ritual. He did not have to search his memory very far to see her face, her pain, and her terror. In fact, he didn't have to search very far for any of them, as numerous as they had been. They were all there on the surface of his mind every day and every time he looked in the mirror and wondered why he was still alive.

At least that was a question he knew the answer to. He… A buzzing at the fireplace alerted to him to the fact that someone wished to speak to him. Dumbledore, of course. No one else, not even Mcgonagall openly sought his company.

As Severus's study and visage came into focus, Dumbledore frowned. He knew the look on Severus's face. The man, still pretty young by wizarding standards, had been thinking about his past. As the Head of Slytherin slashed an irritated glance at his fireplace, he rubbed his left forearm, confirming Dumbledore's guess. 

"What is it you wanted, Headmaster?" Snape shot at the Floo Connection.

"Merely wanted to inform you that Madame Pomfrey has said that Miss Granger will make a complete recovery without any ill side effects. And that you had done an incredible job with the beginning of a complicated medical procedure." Albus waited for a sign that the man had heard what was high praise indeed coming from the persnickety nurse, but he should have known better. He sighed and continued. "Where was it that you found Miss Granger in such a condition, Severus?"

"She was in the basement room of The Three Broomsticks. How she found out it was there I don't think I could hazard a guess. I was searching for her in order to ask her about what we discussed earlier today. I suppose the stupid girl has gone and put herself in such a way that she can not now be of any use." He snorted, letting nothing through to show that he was in any way relieved that there was nothing wrong with the finest student of Hogwarts since…himself. Albus wondered if Severus would ever get over himself. One mistake, and the man was going to act like the muggle's Grinch for the rest of his life. Or perhaps the wizard's Ebeneezer Scrooge.

"No, in fact she will be right as rain in a day or so. Harry and Ron have been told that she caught a cold out by the lake, and no one but the teachers know anything different."

"Protecting your little Gryfinndors as always, Albus," Snape sneered, although he knew as well as the Headmaster did that he harbored no especial hatred of the House, nor any particular love for his own. It was all a vicious little game that Severus had been playing since that fateful day when he'd look at his hands covered in blood, entwined in the girl's thick brown hair. When he'd realized that he simply had to die. 

He had not gone to Dumbledore for redemption, had not believed that there was any such thing, and still did not believe it. He had not gone because he couldn't trust himself to put an end to his own life. Of the many things that could be said about Severus Snape, coward was not one of them. He had gone because there was to be an attack on the Potter's the next day, and as Voldemort's right hand man, he knew about it. He simply hadn't known who the Dark Lord's agent had been in the operation, believing like the rest of the world that it had been Sirius Black. Until three years ago, that is. He had gone to save a few lives as he was ending his, but as soon as he got to the gates of Hogwarts and met the Headmaster, he knew that it was no good. That he wasn't going to do anything to himself while he still might be useful to this man. So he had accepted a job at Hogwarts, and begun his wait for the return of Voldemort, which he knew would but take time. 

Realizing that Severus was lost in his thoughts, as he had been so many times in their acquaintanceship, Dumbledore faded the Connection. And he thought long and hard. And after he had thought long and hard, he opened the third drawer on the left-hand side of his desk, and took out a lemon drop. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it pensively. At last, he came to the same conclusion he had when he was sitting there at 10 in the morning. Severus and Hermione Granger needed to work on this project, or the fate of the wizarding world… But then, Albus disliked the whole "world is coming to an end soon' dithering." So he finished the lemon drop and decided that this was a job that must be done in person.

"No. I tried once, and that's enough."

"No, you will try again."

"Will not."

"Will to."

"Will not."

"Will to."

"Will not."

"Will not."

"Will to." A pause, and then an irritated throat clearing. "Albus, you are _so_ childish."

"You're just mad, Severus, because I always beat you to it. You wait too long. That's always the problem. Luckily, as Miss Granger is lying in a hospital bed, it will be simple enough to track her down and ask her for her help on this project."

"But I don't need it."

"But you will ask her and accept her input as an equal." The Headmaster fixed a stern gaze on his employee, the one that made Severus think he could see right into the tattered remnants of his blackened soul.

"But I will ask her. And perhaps accept her input _if_ she promises not to be such an insufferable know-it-all."

Dumbldore rolled his eyes, nodded agreement, and beckoned the Potions Master to follow him.

"What? Why need we go right now? Its not like she's leaving anytime soon, you said that yourself, Albus," the Professor spoke in what could only be classified as a whine. If a very dignified whine, at that. 

"Because the sooner anything is begun, the faster can it's conclusion be. Severus, quit whining, don't sulk, and lets go to the Infirmary." Dumbledore swept down the corridors of the dungeons, nodding greetings to the summary somber paintings that adorned the slick stone walls, and left Severus no choice but to rush after him like an overgrown bat.

Hermione would no doubt have been shocked to discover that her line of thoughts ran parallel to the dreaded Potion Master's, so it was lucky that she was never to know. She was wondering what had made her do it. Yes, she had been upset about her best friend's betrayal after seven years and she was not such a fool as to say that that wasn't horrible, but had it truly been enough to do something that came so close to destroying her life? The truth was that as many times as she racked her brains to find an answer, she never would. It was one of the foolish, horrible things that no one ever really considers when they are about to do something stupid because it can never happen to them. Well she was lucky-to-be-living proof that even the smartest (though she was not arrogant enough to call herself such) person had to face the harsh realities of life.

Hermione's thoughts got bored with their path and made a sudden break for a different topic. _Harry_. The shy young boy she had first met on the train to Hogwarts, that she had eventually befriended in the heat of battle with a Mountain Troll, who had looked at her with such admiration in his eyes the first time he saw her at the 5th year Yule Ball. The one who turned hard over the years after Voldemort's re-ascension. He didn't think that anyone else realized it, but she did. She knew that every time he saw another casual act of cruelty it added a layer to his shell. Every time Voldemort cast the Crucio, Harry's soul felt the dark power that burned away at it madly. While Hermione would have sought refuge in books and knowledge; the building blocks with which the Dark Lord would be defeated, Harry wanted to go out and fight. He wanted to be on the front line, casting the Light magic that would overpower the Dark and fill in the burnt holes in his soul that Voldemort made. But he couldn't: he was too young, too inexperienced, too anything someone in authority could think of. So Harry became harder and harder and less and less that shy young boy with the charming black hair that liked to flop onto his face. Now he was a powerful young man with the world at his fingertips who didn't need to explain himself to anybody, not even his girlfriend. Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyes and her mind lurched as if to say 'Stop. What are you doing? Crying over a boy who cheated on you for two weeks, who played nasty tricks on you and all the while called himself your best friend? You'd be better off with…with SNAPE, for mercy's sake!' Hermione felt a cold, bony hand on her shoulder and shivered in response, opening her eyes to find herself staring into the blackened irises of Severus Snape.

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So….What's going to happen now? I've begun writing it, but again, can't post unless I know that someone is reading it. I'd like to thank those that reviewed so far: Sara-Lady-Dalian, Thea, Aurinia, Necrosia of the Moon and Night, gorgegirl, kornykorndolly, Dragoneyes, Jess Scefing, and undauntra. Please remember that reviews are the best way to feed the muses:D

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	3. Chapter Three

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Disclaimer: I don't own this, J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. and other much smarter people do, but the plot is all mine.

First of all, I'd like to begin by saying that I am horrifically sorry for taking so long. I had an enormous amount of work, but although I did manage to complete this chapter on the 30th, I was unable to find the time to re-read it and correct and post. My review replies are all down at the bottom and always will be. Thanks for sticking around and reading it (reviewing…), and I hope anyone who is reading this starting now likes it. If you do, or don't, REVIEW:D Tell me why! Now on to our featured presentation…

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Hermione felt a cold, bony hand on her shoulder and shivered in response, opening her eyes to find herself staring into the blackened irises of Severus Snape.

Upon reflection, screaming around Snape was not, perhaps, a great idea. Considering that his immediate reaction was to seal her mouth shut cruelly with one hand while the other went around her neck, thumb prepared to crush her windpipe. Hermione's eyes were bugged out, pleading with the Potions Master to get a hold of himself and let her go. Preferably alive, thank you very much. Her wish was abruptly granted and she spent the next several moments of her life coughing and spluttering. At last she gained control and was able to look up at the Headmaster's profile, turned in concern towards Snape, who had backed away from the hospital bed with a look that Hermione didn't understand. 

Snape caught her staring at him and quickly turned as if to leave the room, only to be arrested by Dumbledore's voice.

"I believe you have something you wanted to say to Miss Granger, Severus?" The voice was stern, but Hermione was certain that she caught amusement behind the words.

Professor Snape turned around rather reluctantly, but quickly gathered himself up and morphed into the imperious figure he was in the classroom and usually outside it as well. 

"Miss Granger, it has come to my attention that due to your performance in Potions, you would make an almost acceptable applicant for the position of a Potions Research Assistant for my latest project. Along with the title comes credits which will be transcribed onto your school record and increase the chances of your getting the employment of your choice, especially if it is in the Potions field." He sneered and turned away to look out the window at the pitch-black November sky and the rolling landscape of Hogwarts underneath.

Hermione studied his silhouette against the window and tried to figure out whether there had or had not been a compliment of some sort in his long-winded offer. She decided there was.

"Yes." Simple and to the point, in stark juxtaposition to his paragraph long sentences. 

He seemed lost in the world outside the Infirmary, in the few stars that twinkled from the heavens, avoiding the clouds. He didn't turn or make any reply at all.

"Professor?" She waited a few moments but there was still no answer. How could he have possibly not heard her? His hearing was certainly acute enough to hear Harry and Ron every single time they tried to talk in his class. Was something wrong? She finally remembered that the Headmaster was in the room. She could ask him what to do. She turned to him, but he wasn't there. Now how had he disappeared without her realizing it? Well, there was nothing for it. She would just have to get his attention herself.

She eased herself out of the hospital bed, wincing as her body felt the effects of the medical treatments she had undergone. As she walked over to the window slowly, she suddenly felt the fact that she was only wearing a paper-thin hospital nightgown. At least it covered her more than a Muggle hospital gown would. To be half-undressed in front of her stern Potions Master was _not_ her idea of a good night. 

"Professor?" she asked again, this time from right behind him. She was so close that she saw the tense line of his shoulders and the bulge of muscles (muscles?) through his ever-black robes. It was interesting being on the other side, she thought. Sneaking up behind him instead of the reverse. It gave her a sort of childish satisfaction and she wondered if it would make him as nervous as it had made her countless times when she was younger. Apparently not, as he had yet to notice her presence. Now she was a little miffed. She wasn't that unnoticeable, was she? It was vaguely reminiscent of that horrible Potions Lesson in her fourth year- _I see no difference, Miss Granger… _As she ran off to the Infirmary, the tears in her eyes were not for the enormous teeth invading her mouth but for the harsh words and the scraping glance. The sneers and remarks that issued from the Slytherin side of her Potions class for the rest of the year were a constant reminder that no matter how hard she tried for approval, no matter how much the other teachers gave it to her, she would always want the approbation of the one man who would never give it to her.

But that had been years ago. She had been young, and other people's opinions had mattered more to her than what she thought of herself. Now she felt that she had grown into herself and her brains. And her ambition. Where others would characterize her as merely smart, she knew that the truth was that she wanted to go to dark places and do incredible things, rivaling even Ron's quest to get out of the shadows of his brother's lives.

"Professor!" She didn't think she'd ever heard of anyone yelling at the forbidding Snape, but there was nothing else for it but to shake his shoulder. And even just a few inches from her, he was so untouchable, an ephemeral shadow encased by the crystal pane of glass. She shook those thoughts from her head. He was human. A professor, yes, but if there was no other way to make him hear her, she would just have to go ahead and do it. She winced a little, slowly, slowly, reaching out a hand to his shoulder, closer, closer…

And then he turned around, a split second before her hand brushed his body. She snatched her limb back quickly and clumsily, the spitting image of a young child who was caught just a little too close to the cookie jar. A raised eyebrow chastised her more than a sound scolding, and Hermione was vaulted into a past of a warm yellow kitchen and her mother's sharp voice, a contradiction that pervaded her life.

A cough acted to bring her out of thoughts that she tried not to have. Tried so very hard. She raised her head to look into the eyes of her teacher of seven years. Wished that she hadn't, when she discovered how hard it was to pull her cinnamon brown eyes away. 

"I believe that there was some reason you so inconsiderately dragged me away from my thoughts, Miss Granger?" The wasp was back in fine stinging form, she noted.

"No, Professor, there was something that I believe you wanted me to say. Yes, I will be your assistant for whatever your current project is. Thank you for the offer." 

He merely smiled in mocking amusement. 

"I did not ask, Granger. I don't do 'asking'."

"What _do_ you do, Professor?" She shot back sassily, not realizing the double-entendre until too late. Blood beat its way to her cheeks in mortification. "Sir, I-"

"No need, Miss Granger, to get yourself in any more trouble with your naiveté." His voice cut her off sternly, brushing away all her dignity. "Be in the classroom tomorrow morning at six." He turned away and swept towards the door, but was arrested by Hermione's indignant voice.

"That isn't possible, professor-."

"Miss Granger, if you feel that you cannot comply with such a simple command, regardless that it is on a Sunday morning and will force you to actually get up, then I will be more than happy to rescind my offer." His voice dripped with sarcasm. Hermione rolled her eyes and it was rather lucky that he was facing the door. Although he often gave the uncanny appearance of being able to see in the back of his head.

"Professor, it isn't possible no matter how much I would love to get an early start on the project because Madame Pomfrey has bound me to this cursed hospital bed for at least a week. And for the record, I regularly rise before six on any given day. Sir." The last was not a last-ditch attempt to infuse her normal respect for a teacher into the statement, but a sarcastic spike. If there was one thing that made Hermione angry (and in fact there were many things) it was an attack on her dedication or perseverance, two things she prided herself on. 

Snape gazed at this student who always seemed to be hovering on the border between obsequious and obnoxious with a new perspective. He gave a hard nod. 

"Fine. I will simply be forced to delay my work-." He was cut off by her again.

"No, that won't be necessary. Three-quarters of Potions work is research. Simply drop by with some books tomorrow morning at your earliest convenience…and I will need a summary of what you are hoping to achieve and anything that you are basing your work on, and by the time I am able to get out of this place, I'll have gone through any material you bring me." Her tone was confident, sure of her abilities. It was tempting to Severus to give her so many books it would be impossible for her to fulfill her foolish promise. Very tempting. He simply graced her with another curt nod and left the room.

Hermione had never really noticed how much presence her teacher had. Of course, she had never been stuck alone with him in a small room at night, either. She felt as though she only now dared breath again, yet there had been something comforting about him as well. Perhaps simply that he seemed to forbid anything from coming near him without his express permission. And that meant that people were safe. She found yet another reason Headmaster Dumbledore was so eager to keep this man. The other she had stumbled upon this last summer while going over some extra Potions reading she had wanted to do. She had progressed beyond doing it simply for her teachers' benefit, and although the result was the same, she now did such things simply for her personal edification. Anyway, the journal was for professionals and so not read by Hogwarts students or their parents, which was sad, because that denied their knowing of just how much a Master of his field the Potions Master was. He was more than just nationally acclaimed; the article had gone so far as to call him a 'genius' among other flattering things, and had gone far towards cementing Hermione's opinion of him and rushing her towards her decision to assist him. To work with him was a high honor indeed, and she knew it even if she hadn't showed him that she did. Questioning whether she wanted to get started with the research, indeed. Hadn't she been a conscientious and almost perfect student of his for years? Didn't he notice anything about her? And why did that keep coming up? Hermione thought for a moment, and then recalled to herself the amount of pain dulling potions Madame Pomfrey had given to her. Although their intended effects had worn off, the side-effects were just beginning. Sleep would undoubtedly be the best thing at the moment.

Professor Snape had but one thing on his mind as he exited the room; bed. The past several nights had been devoid of sleep for various reasons, and he was hoping to rectify the situation. Admittedly, he subsisted on almost as little sleep as his students credited him for, but he was human. If he was to perform at his best, he needed a few hours of repose to do that. However, he was arrested on his ways to the dungeons by a familiar but no less excruciating pain on his left forearm. He made a sharp u-turn to the Headmasters office. Yet again, his plans were foiled by Voldemort.

"Sir, I've been Summoned. I will report to you as soon as I get back. I was given no advance warning about this meeting, and the previous one was just two days ago, so there may be some important information announced." Snape's voice was calm and clear, and Dumbeldore's demeanor the same, but the old man's eyes possessed a wealth of worry for his young friend's safety. The young man in question, however, had no more expression than were he discussing last week's staff meeting. 

"Yes, Severus- or they may have found you out. I have told you time and again, you need not go-."

"Bullshit, Albus. I'm going. I'm going and you are going to let me because I am the closest spy to Voldemort and were I to expose myself by not attending the meeting, you would never again get close enough to place a spy within Voldemort's grasp. Any man that tried would be killed…after a long, long torture session. Besides, Poppy's getting useful training for when the Resistance declares open war against Voldemort." Now he sounded rather amused. He gave Dumbledore a jaunty two-finger salute and turned on his heel.

It was all a show, and the Headmaster knew it. They both did. Severus would never let on even if he was terrified, certain of his death…although Albus, who revered life above all else, was forced to admit that the latter was probably not so high on Severus's list of things to preserve. Severus would never admit that things weren't going as well as he would like. In truth, however, they were. Voldemort, intelligent, calculating, cruel, vain, arrogant never believed for a moment that his prize lieutenant had strayed from his flock. Instead, he readily believed that Severus had simply decided to bide his time waiting for the Master by getting himself into as useful a position for the furtherment of the cause as possible. That was what Severus claimed. 

Readily, he had called it, Dumbledore thought bitterly to himself. Two months of Cruciatus and Unspeakable Potions and Muggle torture methods…and then he was once again accepted as Voldemort's right hand man. Summer vacation for the Potions Master after Potter's fourth year was not spent basking in the glorious, child-free atmosphere of Hogwarts. It had been spent being pushed again and again to the point of death and being revived again and again to be sent back for it all to happen until Voldemort was satisfied or Severus was dead. Dumbledore had understood this, had loathed every moment the reasons he was forced to do this, but ultimately Severus was right; there was no other, was no better choice. He was the pawn and the king. 

The next year had been spent with both sides gathering personnel; trying to ascertain who was on what side. The second year after the Reascension both sides had needed to gain strength, brush up on training and skills rusty after fifteen years out of the battlefield. But the seventh year was shaping up to be different. Already, the Muggle killing total was almost as high as it had been during Voldemort's peak of power, and the Resistance had found that many more of its key parts were dead or unable to fight than the opposing side. A little over two months into school and already the place had begun taking on the feel of a wartime school, with laughter tinted with the knowledge of death acquired too soon and children white-facedly staring at the Ministry owl landing in their breakfast cereal. Yet Severus made a difference. Great as Voldemort seemed to be getting, he placed so much trust in one who would never again follow him with even a portion of his heart, that he was bound to eventually fail. The problem was that Severus could not disobey Voldemort much, and the things had had to do added pounds more to a heart that already was too heavy with sins for him to bear. Additionally, it added even more that he knew that the Light side could not tolerate this slow biding of time if they were to preserve themselves; the mortality rate was simply too high. They needed to act now. For once, rumors were correct in placing Voldemort's biggest act of defiance of the Resistance at Graduation. In one fell swoop, he would control the greatest wizarding school and take out Harry Potter and Dumbledore, his two greatest enemies. Or so he thought, as he discounted the viper at his side in the form of one Severus Snape. Still, the toll was too heavy on all of the Resistance, especially Snape, and Dumbledore had literally turned his brain inside out looking for a plan. That had had the unfortunate consequence of giving him the side-effects of the Obliviate spell, and he had gone about the castle humming Christmas tunes for a week in October. It was now the first week in November, and the Death Eaters were particularly active.

Albus sighed, tired like he almost never got. This was exactly why he told Severus to stop dwelling in the past. It was not only unproductive but it sucked too much out of you. He reached into the fourth drawer, tapped it with his wand and pulled out a long string of Agatha Wiggle's Wonderfully Waggling Watermelon Worms. He'd be waiting awhile for Severus's return.

Snape had done this so many times in the past two years that it was simply routine. The pain, the immediate palpitations of the heart quickly stopped by his rod-iron control, the announcement to Dumbledore…the old man would never know, hopefully, that the main reason he did this was so that someone would know where he was if he died. Then his calm return to his rooms, sometimes arrested by the taking of House points if a hapless student happened to cross his path, as always. The adorning of the Death Eater robes and the Death Eater persona, and then the exiting of the Hogwarts ground. This was the worst part of thenight, or day, or whenever Voldemort so chose; the moments between being safe in the fold of Hogwarts and in the perilous grasp of the Dark Lord. His mind was filled with lists of things he needed to say, needed to find out, needed to keep covert. Filled with a detached curiosity regarding how much pain this visit would entail. For no, not even Voldemort's most favoured acolyte was exempt from his wrath and as of late, Snape had been coming back with more and more injuries. Although to put everything in perspective, Malfoy and Pettigrew had gone home with even more pain than he. Which was saying something, on bad days. At the moment, Snape really had no idea why he was being Summoned. His best guess was that he had been discovered and was to be made a public lesson of Death Eater obedience and honesty, oxymoronic as the last was. He nearly smiled at the thought of Avery ever being honest with his sweet, pathetically stupid wife as to where he had been last night. With that, he made sure his dark mask was secure around his face and stepped over the boundary of the Hogwarts grounds, Dissapparating into very possible death. Unaware of two eyes fastened on his figure as it shimmered and disappeared as the last vestiges of light evaporated and swamped the castle in darkness.

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I would like to thank the wonderful people who reviewed tiger eyes:Thank-you, although I am hoping not to make Harry irredeemable. With regards to the Soppy Snape…I can't really see that happening either, however, as I've stated, my muses like to get drunk and have fits and you never know. Still, it wont be a conscious decision on my part without a good reason, I promise. Nicolette: Thanks, and I'm pleased that you like it. SaraC: Cool, and I'm glad that you like Harry; I really rather dislike two-d characters who are only one side. Tracy: Thank you for the food, my muses enjoyed it immensely. I am thrilled that you like my story, but I want to send my deepest regrets that it is coming so late; I feel TERRIBLE. Bunny: I'm glad. Arcee: Yeah, I dislike characters that are put up on a pedestal, everybody has faults and idiosyncrasies…hmm, I think I need to watch for that with Snape. Gorgegirl: That's so nice! My muses are happy, and your fic is very interesting. Unstable: Lovely name, btw. Yes, quite sufficient, although I need more for this chapter:D You're great. History17: Spelling is something I love, but I always type my reviews too fast to get them right, so don't worry about it:D Harry will probably play a strong role in this story, although I am still figuring that out, and I had hoped that this last chapter had resolved why he was OOC, however, if this is insufficient, e-mail me with a particular question. With regards to my run-on sentences, I do try to catch those, as I write rather prolifically, and thanks very much for the criticism. I will try even harder to catch those next time. If there is anyway you could give me a concrete example in the future, it would help a lot. 

*OK: the main point is that I adore all reviews and criticism….and the muses get nice and fat and happy. Ok, so maybe they don't, having muse-metabolism and all, but you should still review and feed them. Thank-you and I hope you are enjoying this fic. 


	4. Chapter Four

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Disclaimer: I don't own this, it's J.k Rowling's and other smart people, but the plot is mineJ 

Again I am really sorry that this took so long. Any and all mistakes are a product of my best friend's physics homework when I asked her to proofread this. I hope you enjoy it. Also- would you rather have shorter and more frequent chapters or longer in length and time between as I've been doing? I am trying to get all my chapters to about 3,000 words. Thanks, and have fun!

With that, he made sure his dark mask was secure around his face and stepped over the boundary of the Hogwarts grounds, Dissapparating into very possible death. Unaware of two eyes fastened on his figure as it shimmered and disappeared as the last vestiges of light evaporated and swamped the castle in darkness

Snape saw the road to Hogsmeade in front of him shimmer and fade into darkness. A few moments later, he was thrown violently to the hard, damp ground. So. Somewhere where it had recently rained, and rather rocky. Sitting up and looking around would certainly help, but he had no means to decipher what mood his 'Master' was in. Voldemort might find such inquiry from his favorite acolyte amusing, or he might decide to prove just how powerful Harry's blood had made him and cast Cruciatus on Snape for an hour or more. Neither reaction was more likely. No, that wasn't quite true. Lately, Voldemort had seemed irritable, antsy, and power-crazy. He practically jumped at the chance to discipline his ranks. Snape had been thinking for some time on what this meant to the Cause, but he yet to determine whether it was favourable or not. A sudden breeze wafted the scent of the area to the potion master's trained noise and he immediately pinpointed the exact location and the imminent presence of Voldemort and several senior death eaters. 

"Severus." The voice was so calm that he knew he was in for it. Today was one of Voldemorts worse moods, and the tone augured a painful night ahead of him. Perhaps he had been discovered, despite his and Dumbledore's countless precautions. Who knew what fiendish tortures His Master would provide for him while he waited for what he wanted for so many years. Death. It was more than a little ironic that Voldemort was the only one who could give him his heart's desire, although he had no doubt that there were certain students who would like to indulge this wish after Potions Class. But he knew that the Cause could not afford to lose him, especially nearing the feared pinnacle attack that would most likely determine the fate of the wizarding world. 

"My Lord, may I offer my most hearty apologies for my lack of manners with regards to addressing Thy Most Dark Self…" Severus trailed off as soon as he registered the lack of response on his Lord's part. Voldemort rarely allowed Severus to finish, either choosing to begin the punishment or choosing to accept the apology. So was he really found out?

"Severus, we have a treat for you tonight. As Lucius mentioned to me earlier today as we were conversing over a game of chess- it was really too bad that you weren't present as you run some spectacular gambits, and Lucius's skills can be somewhat lacking… Perhaps there is a way that we can get you out of the tenacious grasp of the Old Fool and yet still maintain your pretended sympathy with their Cause…" After a moment of reflection, Voldemort seemed to recall himself and discontinued the tangent. "As he mentioned, you have not participated in ANY Dark Revels since my return. Perhaps you feel that you are not as welcome as those Death Eaters who are allowed to range free while you must be kept to the apron strings of the Old Fool. That is most certainly not the case, and if I do recall correctly, you were rather ingenious in your methods. I always did appreciate it when it was your turn." 

Years of practice as a spy kept the stomach-curdling revulsion from even glimmering on Snape's face as he stood up and made a deep obeisance to the Dark Lord. Torture and murder and rape were apparently on tonight's menu, and no matter how fast his mind ran, it could find no way out of the situation Malfoy had trapped him in. Severus could see him, lurking and grinning over the Dark Lord's left shoulder. Lucius suspected, but he had not the wits to prove anything against one so superior as Snape. _There goes your damnable arrogance_, Snape chided himself. He still took the utmost of precautions against Lucius as the man was powerful and charismatic enough to be right after him in Voldemort's oft-changing ranking.

"My Lord, I am delighted that you have seen fit to provide me with such an opportunity. I am hopeful that I can enjoy these festivities, but I dare not stay longer than an hour, for the Old Fool is beginning to grow suspicious at my frequent disappearances. After two _years_!" Severus's voice held nothing but eagerness for what was to come and disdain for the slow thinking Dumbldore. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-In-Voldemort's-Presence. If one weren't so well acquainted with the fact that Voldemort was all-powerful, one might think his refusal to say Dumbledore's name telling. 

"Yes, well, I'm sure that we can make some sort of solution. I must say that I admire your perseverance to the cause, Severus. Still, it would be good for morale if you could make time to socialize with your fellows." It was nowhere near a suggestion but a steel-laced command. _Well, what was one more rape, one more murder?,_ he wondered to himself. The answer was- everything. Everything he had done since That Night scraped away more and more of his soul, and he figured that his deeds had probably been scraping away at nothing for a while now. Some days the guilt was a tangible pain and those were the days he was most irritable with his classes. No students ever suspected that their Professor might actually have a reasonable explanation for his harshness in class.

"Of course, and with great pleasure, My Lord. What is the agenda for tonight's meeting?"

"Were you not listening, Snape? I told you that tonight was special. Malfoy is holding a Grand Dark Revel which promises to be delightful. You are going to participate, although you may leave within a time that will not make the Old Fool suspect you." Voldemort sounded irritated now, and Severus knew it was unwise to push him any further. He nodded and bowed again, then followed as his Master swept into the austere castle behind him.

Hermione shivered as she walked back into her bed. Her mind was filled with so many thoughts that it hardly knew what to do. They were even starting to override the Sleep Commands encoded within the potions Madame Pomfrey had given her. She would just have to call for the woman and ask if she might have some Dreamless Sleep sent to her. Just as she reached for her wand, the door to the room opened and the person in question came in, apparently for a late night check on what she expected to be a sleeping patient. She gave Hermione a disapproving but nevertheless kind look upon discovering her wakened state and produced a small decanter from the depths of her billowing Mediwitch robes. Hermione spared a thought to wonder how odd Madame would look without them. The woman silently regarded her as she drank the potion down in one gulp. Moonlight and teardrops and salamander hearts with a touch of… Her catalogue of the list of ingredients trailed off as it worked its magic on her body and sent her into deep, restful slumber.

Hermione woke up a few hours later with a feeling that her plan had not gone as predicted. Rather than the deep and restful slumber she usually achieved when she took the Dreamless Sleep Potion, she had been cheated. She had had a night full of tossing and turning and her eyes were gritty with sleep dust. She winced and roughly rubbed it away, forcing her eyes open. A glance outside the wide window of her room showed that it was early in the morning, so early the birds weren't even up. Hermione was very sill for a moment, trying to remember something, but it wouldn't come out. It was like a tiny flea hopping about her mind- it wouldn't let her go, but it wouldn't stay still long enough for her to grasp it. With a shrug, she finally realized that she had better give up before her brain fried itself from the concentration. A quick analysis made her decide to at least try sleep again- after all, Snape couldn't possibly be up at this hour.

Severus was tired and dirty. But aside from any physicalities, he was sunk mentally far below that which was normal even for him. He had not wished death upon himself so fervently since…the last Revel he had attended. At the time, he had been there under duress, but nonetheless he had participated with a certain clinical enjoyment. _Look how good he was even at something he hated._ It was no longer. He loathed every moment he was in the presence of Voldemort or any Death Eater at all, but a Dark Revel was inhuman. The blood, the lack of pity or mercy or any human emotion save the sheer hedonism of it all; it was beyond revolting. And yet he had gone through it like a good little dog, panting eagerly at Voldemort's side, seemingly never getting enough of the death and torture that were practically mother's milk to the other Death Eaters. 

His mind relived the atrocities he had committed tonight in a never-ending loop of guilt and self-hatred. His breath went ragged as the full events hit him like a powerful hex just as he was a few yards from his door. He doubled over with pain from the guilt and the knowledge that he would never be any better, and that it would never end. Many times before had the despair and depression and guilt been this tangible, but never so harshly. It was as though it wanted to consume his very being. Gasping, he strained his muscles in a fight towards the door and finally reached it, collapsing against what was a seemingly innocuous section of the castle wall. In reality, it was a heavily warded entrance to a corridor near his chambers. The reason it had been part of the plans for the castle when it was originally built were unknown…but then, no one had the foggiest idea why there was a room full of chamber pots, either. Severus let out a harsh but still hushed laugh at the thought of miscellaneous rooms he had come across in his nightly prowls for miscreants. Eventually, he was able to gather enough of his wits together to undo the wards and enter the castle. He knew that Dumbledore would know he was back as soon as he went through, so he hesitated a moment before he stepped over the threshold of the entrance. It was not that he did not appreciate Albus's concern, but seeing the hatred on his good friends face towards those who subjected Severus to things like Dark Revels simply undermined his own determination and made him even more eager to go back and prove himself again and again. Which was probably sick and twisted and great fodder for a muggle psychoanalyst (he'd been reading about them in some journal or other), but right now, he had a report to make.

Albus, sitting in his office, preening Fawke's feathers with one hand while writing up suggested curriculum addendums with the other, heard the measured and intentionally forceful footsteps of Severus far before the man got very close the door of his office. Which was, out of necessity and the Headmaster's personal wishes, open to Severus at all times. He did not look up when Severus entered the room in case the man needed a few moments to compose himself as he so often did. He would have sensed the younger man's physical problems had there been any, but luckily there seemed to be none tonight. Which of itself was perhaps disturbing.

" A Dark Revel. All the usuals were there. The new recruits are not yet trusted with the actual location of Malfoy Manor. I…was asked by Voldemort to stay and participate. He seemed rather preoccupied by the thought of how he could get me out of…your…clutches…" Dumbledore was not startled when the Potions Master began to laugh raucously. Severus's moods were always unpredictable and unstable after these things, and he never let anyone else help him. Always insisted that he be totally alone. It was only when the laughter had gone on for several minutes that the Headmaster became worried. Even upon close inspection, the man simply looked as though he was laughing at a really good joke. 

Albus stood up and the desk walked away into a corner of the room. He crossed the space to Severus, but there was still that untouchable quality to his employee that had been in place even in his school days, making it difficult for even a wizard as great as Dumbledore to think of invading Snape's personal space. Tentatively, remarkably mirroring Hermione earlier in the day, or perhaps late last night, he reached a hand out to stop Severus, but again the man seemed to know instinctively when a breach of his world was about to occur and he stepped away, stilling his laughter immediately. In fact, it was so sudden that it was worrisome.

Snape waved his hand dismissively at the Headmaster. There was nothing the man could do for him, nothing that he would let him do.

"Albus, there is little to report save that Voldemort is still trying to reform his glory days- and he seems to be succeeding. The Revel was much like those of the old days. Have you any particular questions or information that you want?" Severus's tone was respectful.

Dumbledore closed his eyes in momentary thought, which looked incredibly as though he was sleeping. 

"No, Severus. Gods bless you, you may retreat to that hole you call your rooms."

"I LIKE them, you annoying… Ah, Albus, if you never fail to get me with that one!"

Now it was the Headmaster's turn to wave dismissively as Snape exited the room. _He thinks I can't feel the self-loathing pulsing off him. Thinks that I don't know what participating in even one more Dark Revel costs him. But he's wrong. God's curse me, but I know every time he goes off and every time he comes back. And now he is going to go back to his room and scrub his skin off and continue working on the Project._ Dumbledore pressed his lips together and went to Fawkes, holding his pet close and hearing the comforting song of the phoenix. Perhaps Minerva wouldn't mind a cup of tea. She had mentioned that she would be up all night working on student scheduling and such. Albus began humming quietly to himself as he walked over to the fireplace.

The trip down to his rooms never happened, apparently, as he had no recollection of it whatsoever. It seemed that he had exited Dumbledore's office and reappeared in front of his own door, about a mile away. It took him a few minutes, as it always did, to Disarm the complicated wards and protections on the doors of his private rooms, connected to the Potions Classroom, and, most importantly, the storeroom. Perhaps the décor wasn't chic, but he had lived here for almost twenty years. It was home. It was silent and gloomy and the type of place people would go to if they were told to crawl under a rock and stay there. It was perfect for him.

He flung his clothing into a basket designed for such a purpose and stepped into the shower he had turned on with magic when he walked in his door. The perfect temperature; scalding hot. Perhaps his skin would burn off and relieve him of feeling as though he had something incredible filthy covering every inch of him. But he knew it would not. He knew that he could never rid himself of that which was truly filthy. Who can sever one's soul?

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I hope the last bit wasn't too melodramatic… But please comment if you feel it was. I adore all comments and criticisms, and even more importantly, my muses do happy tap dances when they are fed. So! I am giving an enormous thank-you to all my reviewers: Sun- thank you, although I hope that I can give you more to think about in this chapter. LadyRhiyana- yes, the muses were nicely fed, and I am so glad that you enjoyed. I am hoping to develop more on Harry, but I don't know exactly how it will go. Kristine Thorne- thanks, that's very nice. JANET- allright, well you read this already so I don't know if you well see this…I added more dialogue for you and I hope your physics goes well. Chrissy- the muses adore cookies, especially with chocolate. And they were absolutely blushing with pleasure from your praises, thank you so much. 


	5. Chapter Five

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Disclaimer: Not mine, sob, sob…plot is, though!J 

Ok, I know that I am a horrible person especially as I had almost all of this finished over Thanksgiving break, but alas, I didn't have the time to get it all straightened out, proof-read, and posted. But you're getting it now. I hope that this chapter isn't boring. 

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He knew that he could never rid himself of that which was truly filthy. Who can sever one's soul?

Hermione was awoken yet again, still without feeling truly rested. It was probably some sort of effect from the combined ingredients of the potions and her body's natural resistance to rest. Perhaps she could research it later today in the library. No, that certainly wasn't possible since she was restricted to this damnable hospital bed. What had she to occupy her time? There were no homework assignments as yet that needed completion…ah! There it was- Snape ought to be bringing in some Potions books for her to research. That should prove an interesting distraction from the flat squeaky clean white walls. They were enough to make anyone go crazy. Although she had to admit that her classmates, studious Ravenclaws included, would think her crazy already, burning with anticipation for a research project at seven on a Sunday morning. To each her own, though. The professor seemed not to be one who slept in, and his acidic comment last night confirmed that; but she still had no way of knowing when he would come by with her books. She sighed and looked about the hospital room once again. Thankfully, just as she was about to tear her eyes out from boredom, she heard muffled voices issuing from the other side of the door.

"Severus, what are you thinking? It's bad enough that you didn't report to me last…I don't care that nothing…yes, I am aware that…no, I am NOT, but I do…we have been dissuaded since you began teaching. I DON'T CARE!! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DISTURB MISS. GRANGER'S MUCH NEEDED REST WITH WHATEVER INANE RESEARCH YOU WISH HER TO…do." Hermione, although she was out of bed and crouching next to the door, was unable to hear the quiet "shit" that followed Madame Pomfrey's outburst. Which was probably a good thing, as it would have sent her into juvenile giggles. And God knows she felt juvenile enough, hunched over in her sterile white hospital night gown, trying to listen in on a conversation…and now with the added indignity off her Potions Master glaring down at her with an armload of deliciously thick looking tomes. She straightened hastily and brushed down the front of her gown, missing the miniscule spark of amusement as she attempted futilely to regain her composure and dignity. 

"Sir. Thank goodness you are finally here. I was about to go crazy from this boring room. I can't wait to get started on those books; and formulating ideas for the potion." The words were jerked from Hermione's mouth as though Snape pulled them out, and her voice cracked on the last word. She winced at waited for the forthcoming bite of sarcasm.

"Right, Miss. Granger. So terribly sorry to have not jumped right over to keep you from boredom, my own schedule having no value, of course. And you will simply dive into these books headfirst and begin spouting brilliant and invaluable ideas, I am _sure_. But be that as it may, Madame Pomfrey seems rather insistent on the fact that you need a sabbatical from your workload. Something about finding the stress levels in your system off the charts." Here Severus paused momentarily, wondering just where his own stress levels would be. Somewhere off the fourth dimension, most likely. "And so you will begin your…tenure as my assistant only when you are at prime capacity." Snape would usually have taken pleasure at the way the young Gryfinndor's face crumpled at the thought of losing research time and staying inured in an isolated room for a week, but the horror that filled her eyes reminded him sharply of a girl last night. A girl from whose eyes the horror would never be erased. Telling himself he was a fool, he pursed his lips severely before speaking, this time addressing Madame Pomfrey who had previously been hovering victoriously in the doorway. "Madame, it is in the best interest of the project and on Albus's orders that this research begin immediately. This child is the best one for the job, and has nothing better to do with her life than assist me in these mundane and, I assure you, hardly taxing tasks which I myself am unable to find time for." Pomfrey was certainly a good enough sort, but the arrogance that dripped from his voice was the best way to ensure her complete and instant compliance. Sure enough, slightly flustered, the woman dipped her head in acknowledgement, then swept huffily away. Snape almost smiled. Then her turned back to the Granger girl.

Although Hermione certainly took umbrage at being called a child and the implication that she was so utterly beneath Snape, she was sincerely thankful that he had convinced Madame that she be allowed to assist his research now. Not that she'd ever tell him.

"A _child_, Professor? I _hardly_ think so, considering that my 18th birthday is only about a month away and that is NOT including the time the Time Turner added to my life." She glared at him challengingly, but was taken aback by the short, bitter laugh her words produced. The smile that twisted his lips was almost as dark as the look that filled his eyes, focused on her, but far away.

"They're never too young." He shook his head tauntingly, then his eyes returned to normal and his focus fixed on her. "These are rather obviously the books with which I wish you to begin research. The potion is described in this parchment here and I see that you have your school apparatus already up here. I will expect a thorough catalogue of anything of interest by the time I return here after dinner." With a curt nod, he deposited the books with a flick of the long, dark wand he pulled from the depths of his robes on the table beside her bed, moving a quill and several pieces of parchment up there as well. This would save her having to do it manually, as she wasn't supposed to do any magic for about 48 hours after so serious a malady. He was gone before she could say anything, so Hermione merely shrugged and returned to bed, eager to get at the veritable treasure trove of books. First, she would of course begin with the explanation of the potion they were trying to create or modify, or whatever…

Several hours later, Hermione was roused from the trance-like state that she had fallen into upon beginning the reading. She was not certain that she understood the explanation of the potion, which had been written, deceptively, on an Ever-Growing Parchment, so that what looked like a page was really a volume. There were a few salient points that she wished to discuss with the Professor, but she had no idea how to get in contact with him. She somehow had doubts as to whether Madame Pomfrey would carry a message, and she was her only link to the outside world. Neither Harry nor Ron had come and tried to see her as far as she knew. 

The outline of the Project was to discover a basic formula for all Immortality and Death potions. Only in this way would it be possible, she supposed, to brew something which would counteract the powerful potion which had been ingested by Lord Voldemort the night of the final test of the Tournament. At once, it sounded simple, but that was not taking into account the fact that there were literally hundreds of potions for both of these things as well as variations on them and that their ingredients, the properties of their ingredients, and any possible substitute ingredients and their properties had to be cross-referenced if a pattern was to be found. It could quite possibly take years to achieve this task. Because of this, she knew that Snape must somehow have narrowed the possibilities down. Perhaps if the words on the page would stop swimming around, she would be able to concentrate and figure out what she was missing. 

Harry looked sadly at his former girlfriend as she slipped once again back into the daze of academia. He had succeeded in rousing her from it for but a brief few moments, but she had not even glanced his way. He knew that she thought he was cold-hearted and hopeless. That he didn't know what he had become-but she was wrong. He cared for her, but he couldn't be with anyone he cared for. He knew that he was slowly- or quickly- turning evil and that Voldemort was gaining control over his thoughts and actions every time he failed to get out of this Gods-forsakenly _safe_ castle and put an end to the evil which he felt out there. He could practically feel his morality ebbing from him, and this year he had made a vain attempt to make Hermione his lifeline to the moral world. Instead, he had ended up destroying their friendship, cutting all the lines. Harry, still unnoticed, slipped his Invisibility Cloak back on and slid silently out of the room, another layer added onto his shell. 

Hermione did, however, look up when Madame Pomfrey came into the room. Only because the woman slammed the door and shouted her name. She looked up, wincing at the crick in her back from sitting on her bed in this awkward position for hours. 

"Hermione Granger, are you aware of what time it is? It is three o' clock in the afternoon, and you have been sitting here for hours upon hours with no respite or, might I add, lunch. I don't care whether the Headmaster sanctioned this or not- and believe me, I have trouble believing that he would be party to such a venture as would make the Head Girl of this school abuse her already abused body in such a way. By Gods, girl; do you not realize that you ALMOST DIED? Just yesterday. You will hand those books over to me post-haste and then you will eat, and take a few potions that will assist you in a nice, restful sleep." Panting heavily and struggling to regain her composure, Madame Pomfrey straightened her robes and held out an imperious hand, though the effect was rather ruined by the fact that it was shaking erratically. Hufflepuffs weren't well suited to rants. 

Hermione had sat stock-still as the nurse raged at her, then she silently gathered the heavy tomes, almost falling off the bed in the process, and hefted them into the woman's embrace. She struggled not to show any amusement when Pomfrey staggered about trying to compensate for the sudden added weight. 

Finally, Madame Pomfrey was able to exit the room and, ostensibly, throw the books someplace. She returned a few moments later to find Hermione lying on the bed and she looked down at the girl. She had been too harsh; she knew that the girl was simply jumping at the chance to win acknowledgement from her most exacting professor. Her tender gaze darkened as her thoughts drifted to Professor Snape. The man was so stubborn- she was an expert in her field and yet he continually insulted her by never allowing her to work on him unless it was serious. Well, even though sleep was necessary for the healing process, the body couldn't function without nutrients and Miss Granger hadn't eaten since last night. And it would soon be her time of the month, too, so Madame knew the girl shouldn't start off being malnourished. She left the room quietly and returned with a tray full of what the House Elves had assured her where "Herm-o-ninny's" favorite foods. 

"Hermione, dear, I know that you must be famished, wouldn't you like some food? Of course you would. I'll just set it here on the table and when you are ready to eat, all you have to do is point at it and it will turn into a nice lap tray. The House Elves all tell me that you really like these...foods." Madame's kind voice trailed of in slight puzzlement as she couldn't really figure out what half of the food was. Not proper English stuff, certainly, but the girl was entitled to her own tastes. 

Hermione's voice was rather muffled, stuffed on the pillow as it was. 

"Thank you very much, Madame. I appreciate it and I really didn't realize how much time had passed. Have a good afternoon." And then she stretched and pointed at the tray, making sure the good Mediwitch saw her take a bite of the eggplant parmesan and spear some of the moussaka. She also lifted the large café mocha with whipped cream and took a long sip, savoring the hot liquid as it slid won her rather parched throat. Her favorite foods, yes, even if it was a rather odd assortment of them. She had been inhaling dust from the books for hours, and she knew the only way Madame Pomfrey would let her do it later was if she acted like the perfect repentant patient. She was good at acting. She felt the woman nod in satisfaction and leave the room with a small woosh of fabric.

Severus stared with hooded eyes at the children, much too loud at this time of the morning. Of course, he thought that they were much too loud at any given time, so perhaps his opinion carried something of a bias. He hated breakfast foods, inevitably greasy things that they were. Or tastelessly healthy, he amended. He reached over to his right and picked up the enormous cup of coffee that sat there. His students would assume it was bitter and black, but the truth was that Severus liked nothing better than a steaming hot cup of mocha, although he detested whipped cream. Frothy, ephemeral and above all undignified additive that it was. He sipped slowly, savoring the delicious, almost sensual taste. Then a shrill voice at his left disturbed the minute amount of peace he had managed to seize for himself. Well, didn't something always?

"Severus, how are you this morning? I heard you were called yesterday, so glad that you're fine, I hope that we can make things work soon for the Cause, it will be so nice if we can have graduation in peace without this terrible fear hanging all over us." The words spilled from the mouth of little Flitwick as though the man had gotten into certain magickal substances well controlled by the Ministry. Stop it, he told himself. The man was simply a very perky and effervescent person. He simply detested the fact that the Charms Professor had to effervesce onto _him_. He turned an ice-sharp smile on the man, who immediately stopped smiling as he received the message Severus was trying to tell him.

"Won't it?" was really 'leave me the fuck alone and don't ever bother me again.' Could this be the reason the staff left the Potions Master alone for the most part? No, of course not. Severus glanced at the clock on the opposite side of the Hall and realized that he ought to continue his research. He wondered idly whether Granger had managed to get anything done at all. Well, he wasn't concerned with her right now. All he knew was that he had some spare moments to work on the Project that might make all the difference to the Wizarding world and he was wasting it drinking coffee. He stalked from the Great Hall to no great surprise of the faculty or students. Snape was always in a bad mood.

Upon entrance to the Potions Laboratory, he didn't give himself a moment to sooth his inner turmoil. To hell with his feelings. Or rather, his feelings were already in Hell, so why bother trying to get them out? Better just to get on with his work. He looked over the notes he had made after coming home from that…lovely little excursion last night. He had, as Dumbledore had foreseen, stayed up all night working on the Project: notes and compiling the research material for Granger. What he didn't even admit to himself was that he was avoiding sleep, and the nightmares that would plague him even if he tried taking the strongest Dreamless Sleep Potion he was capable of brewing.

He had given the girl half of the research materials and kept the other half so that when she started squalling about how she simply couldn't do anymore, how she had to make sure she passed the N.E.W.T.S and support Potter, he wasn't too behind. Damn the Headmaster for making him rely on someone else. He had long ago learned that only heartbreak and anguish…and he was getting maudlin. He had been going without sleep for so long that he knew it was not lack of slumber that had triggered this. It was most likely a combination of the stress and the acts he had performed last night at Voldemort's cheerful party. Again he could not help but compare himself to a pathetic lapdog, executing tricks at his Master's orders. Even though he was awake, the events of last night still played in lurid color and detail across the panels of his inner eyelids. He clicked his teeth together once, and brushed all this ridiculous thought out of his head. It was useless to attempt to replay the events in order to absolve himself of some of the guilt or responsibility. He would never be absolved, and that was as it should be. So, the Vivre Potion contained a goat's stomach, the left wing of a Cornish Pixie…

Because Hermione had been such a good patient when Madame Pomfrey was in her room before, she was allowed back her books and materials as she knew she would be. Her earlier actions might have been seen as capitulation by some of the less subtle Gryffindors, but Hermione had merely been plying a useful strategy. And it had worked. 

Let's see. There was often an ingredient from the insides of animals, so she made sure that she noted it. Also, wings of various sorts were often used. She had gone through only some of the myriad of potions listed here, though, so she decided to make a list of more ingredients before she came to false conclusions. She could just imagine the ridicule and fury in her teacher's eyes if she got any of this wrong. To be entrusted with this much responsibility was incredible, and she was determined that she would not fail. Still, she wished that she could talk with Snape about where this was going, because she had a feeling that there might be another way to look at these things if she knew the objective. Yet again, she was faced with the quandary of how to get a hold of the man that the rest of the student body prayed fervently never to see other than in class. 

What time was it? She had decided that it would be more prudent to stay on Madame Pomfrey's good side, stuck within the woman's clutches as she was for the next week. The only way that she was going to get as much done as she had vowed to Professor Snape was if she acted as though she was going to bed and taking breaks at all the right times. It was almost time for dinner, so she set her books aside, after finishing up the page she had just been doing, and tucked herself in to bed. When Madame Pomfrey came in with a tray a few minutes later, it looked as though Hermione had been sleeping for awhile, and the mediwitch sent a fond look at her patient. She was such a good girl.

"Hermione, dear, its time for dinner. And since you have been so good about napping, you may continue your research for a few hours after you eat." Hermione flashed a brilliant smile at the witch, although she disliked the sugar sweet tone of voice used. She knew that the woman was really well-intentioned, but like Professor Snape, she couldn't help but find her rather annoying. Well, perhaps the good woman would be more disposed to contact Professor Snape now that she was acting so good.

"Madame…is there anyway that you could get a hold of the Potions Master for me? I have a few questions for him and it would be such a help…" She let her innocent voice trail of in entreaty. Poppy Pomfrey smiled at the girl, but it didn't seem quite real. It was obvious to Hermione that the woman, like any of the students, would rather do anything than seek out the surly Potions Professor. 

A short struggle went on in Pomfrey's mind, but she _was _truly a good woman at heart and could not resist Hermione Granger's innocent charm. It would not be easy to find Snape and she had no doubt at all that her head would be bitten off when she dared interrupt him, but there was nothing for it. She sent the girl another smile, hoping that it did not look weak, and then turned around to go in search.

Severus Snape looked up from his research and realized that it was probably about dinnertime. He would have it sent down as he usually did on Sunday nights, and had clasped the small silver bell used for Summoning the House Elves, when he recalled the promise he had made to the Granger girl. In his wish to get away from the Infirmary, and Poppy, he had muttered something about reading whatever she had catalogued. On his way up to the Infirmary, he had been about to mutter a remark to himself about her guaranteed incompetency in whatever, if anything, she had gotten done today, but his innate honesty, so often disregarded, checked him. The truth was, the girl was good. Still, he harbored no high hopes for the results from a sick teenager on a Sunday. He strode through the heavy wooden doors, pushing them aside easily, and quickly entered the Infirmary. The door to Granger's room was on his left, but as he turned to go in, he very nearly fell over the figure emerging.

****

Here's hoping that y'all enjoyed that chapter, and want more. Which, by the way, if you do, the best way to get it is to leave a review and feed the muses. And thanks to all who reviewed last chapter: English Toffee-Hope you got enough sleep…I often don't! Glad you liked it, have to tell you that there is a very real possibility of Snape being tortured, but as to being found out, I really don't know! No, Hermione has a different role to play in this…although I'm not positive of that, eitherJ Chrissy- thanks for reviewing again, they're very happy about that. Gorgegirl- thanks so much! Eclectic Moone- About grammar and style, please, I am begging you on my knees to give me specifics, I am forever trying to improve my writing. If you can't, though, I understand, sometimes its hard to pin exactly what isn't right down. And thanks for the compliment. There will almost certainly be romance, but as to Soppy Snape, I don't really see that. He will probably...well, I can't really say, as it all depends on the muses, but I hope this doesn't discourage you from reading. He _is_ a very redeemable Snape! Thanks to all my reviewers, and my muses are humming for more:D 


	6. Chapter Six

**_Disclaimer: If it was mine, I would be rolling in glee. But it isn't._**

**Oh…damn.  I had this chapter completed almost a week ago, but I sent it to my best friend and so I thought that I had posted.  So sorry!  I didn't realize until I went to put the…well, it will be the seventh chapter, up and type in the last line of the previous chapter.  Oops.  So, I will paste in what I had written before.  Hey, I hope that everyone is having a great Christmas/holiday.  I hope also that this isn't too much of a late update; I was trying really hard to get out in a fairly timely fashion.  Please review and give me a wonderful Christmas present, even if you hate it!**

_The door to Granger's room was on his left, but as he turned to go in, he very nearly fell over the figure emerging._

"Madame!  I was just about to go in to see Miss Granger, whom, I've no doubt, has spent much of today resting."  He nodded to the woman and brushed past her, not eager to get into a discussion about patient behavior.

           When he walked into the stark white room, he saw the girl on the bed tucking into a large dinner.  An untidy array of parchment and books lay on the table beside her.  Hermione was too engrossed in her food to notice when he came in.  He would never admit that it was because he had slipped into the room with the silence of the snake that was his House's symbol, interested in seeing how the perfect Miss Granger acted when no one was looking.  His gaze was shortly interrupted when she glanced up and saw him standing there.

           "Oh, Professor!  Madame Pomfrey was able to find you!  But she was rather quick in doing it; did she Floo you?"  Hermione brushed a thick lock of her drattedly long chestnut hair off her face then decided it would just be easier to loop it up in a knot.  She did so, while keeping her eyes on her Potions Professor, who was simply staring calmly as she spoke rather faster and more loudly than she had intended.  Well, it wasn't her fault; she really was a normally composed person, but there was something about him!  She had noticed it last night, too.

           "No, Miss Granger.  Were you so engrossed in your studies that you had forgotten?  Or was it the food?"  Hermione's eyes widened in outrage.

           'I would have thought, Professor Snape, that such crude, not to mention unbased, comments would be below you.  I am sorry to have my conception disproved…oh."  She had disregarded Snape's eye dart to the pile of books on her bedside table, assuming that it was simply a… twitch, or something.  She should have known better.  Severus Snape let nothing show without reason.

           "Funny," she said dourly, but then relaxed her face into a smile.  "Sir, I've read through a great deal of the material, and you will find my notes there," here she nodded at the small table," but I have several questions regarding the actual project.  Now, you say here that the processes will combine several or more…"

           As Hermione spoke, Snape came around the side of the bed and dropped gracefully into a chair set there, focused on her.  Within moments an earthquake or, more likely, a Deatheater Invasion would have been all that could have detached the two studious people from the parchments and books which soon littered the bed and floor of the small Infirmary room. 

           Several hours later, Snape stirred himself from Hermione's bedside.  Although he gave no outward sign of it, he was rather loath to leave.  However, he knew that he had to be the adult in the room, even if the intellect the girl had show had proved her to be well beyond her peers, and most of his, in regards to intelligence and the sheer will to learn.  Still, he figured that Poppy would have either his head or hers if he stayed any longer, and though she had not seemed to notice, she was tired.  Granger was so intent upon studying a paragraph of a text that he had shed some light on that she didn't even notice when he got up.  She turned the page as she stifled a small yawn and Snape rolled his eyes, knowing that no one would see him do it,  She did rather remind him of himself when he had been up late studying.

           "_Accio__ Les Liquides de Vie et Plus˝ he muttered.  The book flew off the girl's bed and landed with a thump into Severus's outstretched palms.  She looked up, owlishly blinking in confusion._

           "What did you do that for?  I was almost done if you wanted the book back."

           "Miss Granger, it is rather time that you were abed; you will not overstrain yourself if you wish to be my assistant."

Hermione glared at him, not caring for the moment that he was her Professor.  "I will NOT overstrain myself, I AM 18 years old and I DO know when to put myself to bed,  I'm not a first year who doesn't know her head from her…wand and I really resent the amount of times that I have been told to eat, drink, or rest today!"  Hermione's rant could, and probably would, have continued from some times, especially as Snape found it totally amusing, but her tirade was interrupted by much too loud claps that were issuing from the doorway.  The person who stood there was somehow out of Hermione's line of view, but Snape could see clearly and he gave a wry grin to the figure.  

           "A MOST impassioned speech, Miss Granger. However, as the Headmaster of this school and therefore a parental figure of a sort, I must agree with Poppy and Severus that you really mustn't tire yourself out after such an ordeal as you had just yesterday.  I am truly glad that you and Severus have found each others company so enjoyable that you were able to spend such a length of time together."  The Headmaster smiled mischievously, and you haven't seen a mischievous smile unless you've seen Albus's.  His face crinkles in a million tiny wrinkles, each full to the brim with good humor, and his eyes sparkle with mirth that even three year olds would be hard put to rival.  

           "It was the material!"  Two voices shouted the same words, in similar scandalized tones, almost simultaneously.  The Headmaster's smile changed not a wit as he nodded in agreement, although everyone in the room knew he was as close to agreeing with their assessment of their own situation as he was close to being a flowerpot.  Although with Dumbledore you never really knew.

           "All right.  Severus, I'm sure you need sleep as well, so I hope to see you cheerful and rested bright and early tomorrow morning at breakfast.  The forecast by the weather witches say that it ought to be a gloriously sunny day, so the Hall should look magnificent."  Albus beamed at his young friend, knowing that there were few ways faster to get Severus Snape beating a hasty retreat from the vicinity than the mention of cheerfulness and sunshine.  Even if it was half for show.  It worked, as always, and after a quick pardon, the Potions Master left the room and the Headmaster was alone with Hermione,  He glanced down at the girl with his eyes that saw everything and wished that they really did.  He would give a great deal to know what lay in the head of the girl who was staring bemusedly after her Potions Master.  At least he could make a very good guess.  That was really what his omniscience was; a lifetime of making damn good guesses.  "Miss Granger, I do hope you don't mind me taking up a few moments of your time before you get back to the sleep that I know you so earnestly desire."  The last was said in a droll tone, as he had heard her little speech earlier and Hermione smiled a little, Perfect Head Girl with her complete attention and focus on him, ready to burn into her mind whatever words fell from his mouth, "I merely wanted your opinion on how you think you will like working with Professor Snape and what you think he is trying to accomplish with his research."  He wanted to couch his words carefully, knowing that the brilliant girl in front of him would pick up on the cue this was a test of sorts.

           "Well, sir, I believe that we will get along fine.  He may hate us Gryffindors and I may not like Slytherins very much, but this isn't a Quidditch field.  The important thing here is the effort against Voldemort,  If I may, I think that that may answer your second question.  I believe that Professor Snape wishes to create an antidote for the potion that the Dark Lord used to resurrect himself.  Without this protection, it should be a much simpler, though still complicated, task to defeat him."  Dumbledore nodded and smiled at her.  She had gotten almost everything, if only…

           Hermione's brows furrowed in thought and she spoke again.  "No, an antidote isn't right,  This isn't a natural potion and it isn't meant merely to erase the effects, but to do more than that.  Hmmm.  I want to say counter, but that doesn't quite fit either…"  Now Dumbledore's smile got just a fraction wider.  She really had gotten it all.

           "Its called a Key, Hermione, and there have only been five Keys ever found in magical history.  It has never taken less than a full decade to form one, but you and Professor Snape will have the challenge of attempting to create one in a mere seven months."  Before he even had the chance to give one of his usual pep talks about confidence and his belief in their abilities, she cut in.

           "And we'll do it.  I'm not trivializing the job, I know how much effort it will take, but no matter what, I am going to do this."  Her mouth was set in a determined line and her arms crossed over her chest as though to keep them from leaping from her and immediately beginning the job.  Just like Severus, so many years ago and every day since.  But that thought was most likely to early.  He hated when he got there before himself.  Dumbledore patted the girl's arm in agreement and slid out of the room, simply telling her, "Yes."

           Hermione sat firmly upright in her bed for a few minutes, pondering what she had said to Dumbledore and what he had said back.  She twisted her lip with her teeth, a habit that often gave her bloody lips to show for it.  She heard Madame Pomfrey come in, could tell by the sound of the enormous robes brushing the floor with a rather harsh rasp.

           "Ready for bed, dear?  Would you like a cup of hot cocoa before you sleep?"   Hermione smiled at the genuine solicitousness in the woman's voice, but shook her head.  The Mediwitch pulled her wand out of the sleeve of her robe and changed Hermione into a fresh Infirmary nightgown.  Then she waved it again to change the sheets, and Hermione tucked herself into the fresh smelling bleached fabric with a quiet "good night". 

           Severus Snape knew when Albus wanted him gone, and while normally he would have stuck around long enough to at least hear the reasons he was being subtly shooed out of the room, tonight he was eager to get down to the dungeons and begin researching a few things the girl had brought to his attention.  She really was pretty sharp.  He would see what the other teachers saw in her if only she wasn't quite so obnoxious in class.  Although come to think of it, she really hadn't been quite so annoying in the last few years.  Well, she did help Longbottom entirely too much.  The boy had to learn sometime how to stand, fall, and blow up cauldrons on his own.  If only he had turned spy a few weeks earlier, the boy would have grown up with some of the bravest and most competent people of their generation. Lost in bad memories, Snape wandered the corridors to his laboratory, knowing damn well that he wouldn't be able to sleep again tonight.  Well, at least he would get a lot of research done.

            Severus opened the door to his rooms after undoing the myriad of complicated spells and incantations that protected him from…whatever.  Before he entered his chambers, he traced the pattern of the thick oaken door.  It was rather unsurprisingly a snake, a gorgeous silver creature whose tongue would occasionally flicker at the passers-by, especially if it thought it could scar them.  Airain had been guarding his doors with alacrity since Snape had begun his teaching career, and he was one of the few objects that Snape talked to.  After all, he already knew everything that happened to him anyways.

            "Severrrusss.  How nissse to ssee you.  You went thrrrough the back doorrr the lassst few timesss."  The sibilant voice was reproachful, but Severus ignored it.

            "I'm sure you're wasting away in sorrow.  But I wanted to know if there has been anyone around in the last few days.  Loitering, looking or trying not to look suspicious?"  Knowing that Severus had his own reasons for asking, the snake replied in the negative, after considering the question for a few moments,  Still, Airain could not resist the chance to poke some fun at his somber master's expense.

            "Visssiting a lady, werrre you, Severrrusss?  Why don't you brrring herr back to uss?  Itsss been ssso long sssince we've had one herre, hasssn't it?  Nothing interesting ever happensss."

            Usually this was good for an argument or two, but today Severus simply opted to glare at him, and, reaching for the door handle, slam him rather hard into the frame.    

            Severus knew he shouldn't let a snake that was stuck to a door (though it was a very nice door to be stuck to) get to him, but when it continually brought up the same remarks that people like Sirius Black had, it really was exasperating.  Well, it wasn't like it mattered.  Now, as then, he had a goal, though he hoped that was all he had in common with that boy.  Besides, he could probably have lady company if he wished it.  Well, he was not a liar…when he wasn't forced to it, and he had to reflect on that statement as he gazed into the mirror in his bathroom, where he had retired after walking into his rooms.  He needed a hot shower, but he could not indulge in the luxury of washing his hair, for he had to maintain at all times the appearance of a man who didn't give a damn about what he looked like and who didn't want other people to give a damn either.  He wasn't so certain that this was true, but his personality kept the adults away and his personality coupled with his features kept all the children out of his greasy hair.  He snorted, wondering whether the children really thought they were quiet when they whispered in the hallways.  So maybe he was alone, but there was nothing to say that he didn't want it that way.  In truth, he had always fancied a life free of those ephemeral attachments that others seemed to fling about so carelessly, but he had to admit that that hadn't worked out so well for him.  He had become a Death Eater, he had become a spy, he had become an old man before he was forty.  Severus shook his head and stepped into the scalding water, ignoring all thoughts but those the pounding drops drove into him.

**Poor, poor Severus.****  Wait will happen to him?  Have a wonderful and safe Christmas and I hope everyone gets what they want with people they love.  As always, I love dearly those who take the time to review (hint, hint…this would be a wonderful Christmas present…): **

****

**Janet, Here's hoping I get around to calling you and wishing you a merry Christmas, and bugging you to read my other fic.**** Just click on the nice little link on the top of the page top my author page, its really simple, dear.  **

**To my anonymous reviewer: I wish you had left a name, that was so nice of you!  My muses are blushing from the praise.  Really, its amusing****.  **

**LadyRhiyana****: Yeah, I try to make my characters more than two-dimensional.  And be on the lookout for more Snape Angst and more Snape-like Hermione****J**

**Kathryne**** L. Crockett****: Thanks for the encouragement, and I would be really saddened if my muses killed Snape. Really don't think they will, though, as they like him as much as I do!**


	7. Chapter Seven

**_Disclaimer: Not…mine…so…sad…_**

****

**All right, I'm glad that people still seem to like this fic; a little plug here, if you don't mind.  I have another fic, very different from this, much more lighthearted and it will move faster, although I hope that neither is incredibly better than the other, and its called The Joke's On Her and it can be found easily by clicking on my author link above.  Okay, done with that, please read, please enjoy, and pretty please with Slytherin sprinkles on top REVIEW****J**

_In truth, he had always fancied a life free of those ephemeral attachments that others seemed to fling about so carelessly, but he had to admit that that hadn't worked out so well for him. He had become a Death Eater, he had become a spy, he had become an old man before he was forty. Severus shook his head and stepped into the scalding water, ignoring all thoughts but those the pounding drops drove into him._

Severus had, for a wonder, actually been able to sleep a little bit the night before.  He stretched in a rare unguarded moment, optimistic for about a second.  Until the time it took reality to catch up with his dream clouded mind.  That was odd in as of itself, as he rarely had dreams that he remember, and never pleasant ones.  He didn't think he dreamt pleasantly at all, yet despite the fact that he had crawled into bed at two in the morning when he had finally convinced himself that falling asleep on the book would be most undignified and probably result in more pain than he already had, he was well-rested and relatively happy.  Understand, please, that this meant that his glower was less acid than usual and his eyes not quite as eager to punish childish miscreants.  He dressed and showered quickly and swept down to the Great Hall with his customary pace, not breaking a step as he deducted a massive amount of points from the silly Ravenclaw first-year who thought that it would amuse his friends if he mimicked Professor Snape's walk down the hallway.  Snape smiled as he felt the boys jaw drop open.  Simply because he wasn't nervously searching for a way to deduct points didn't mean he didn't relish the taking of them when so flagrant a violation occurred right in his path.  Or shall we say, behind his path.  Albus had been right, as always, and the Great Hall shone with sunlight even this early in the day.  Severus didn't mind sunshine, he really didn't, but pain from the Dark Lord's punishments always seemed worst in the sun, although he conjectured that it might be psychosomatic in that dark was magnified in the light.  But he was not in the mood to think about Voldemort right now.  He wanted un café mocha et un croissant…be damned to all the English breakfast nonsense.  His delicate French mother had always insisted on light breakfasts, although his father liked heartier…come to think of it, he didn't really want to think about his parents either.  Severus settled into his seat and took a deep sip of the mocha that appeared before him.

            Hermione woke up feeling fairly refreshed, more so than she had in fact in months.  Before Saturday, she had woken up for the past two months with a feeling of dread and wondering what fight she and Harry were going to have that day and how she was going to find a way to make it up.  But all that was done now.  She smirked a little bit, thinking of sundry Muggle magazines that she saw when in line at the pharmacy; "Get your life back TODAY" and "Take control, you really WILL feel different!"  Well, she had to admit, for all that she thought they were full of crap there was something to the advice of dumping men who were giving you problems.  She smiled and then wondered how she was going to get breakfast.  She didn't know that she could face all the stares in the Great Hall.  Not about the alcohol poisoning, Dumbledore had assured her that that was confidential, but her break-up with Harry was sure to be the talk of the school.  Everyone would either think her mad or simply hate her guts, and she didn't really care to face either reaction.  Her dilemma was solved when her gaze fell upon the piece of parchment floating near the doorway.  Clever little charm, that.  She beckoned it, noticing that she did not need to expend any magick to activate it.  

_Miss Granger,_

_            I hope that you are feeling much better today,  Severus has informed me that you are to be allowed to study and perform whatever research it is you two are doing, and I have agreed as long as you are as sensible about it today as you were yesterday.  Also, Ron told me that he would be bringing all of your school assignments to you as soon as his classes were over, even the ones from those he doesn't share with you.  Bathroom, remember, is out the door and to the left, and breakfast will come when you shout your order into the little tray in the corner of the room.  See it?  Oh, I suppose you can't tell me.  Well, if you don't, just wait a bit and I will be up to check on you._

_            Poppy Pomfrey_

            Luckily, Hermione _had spotted the tray, but she decided she ought to go to the bathroom before she ordered.  She got ought of bed with a little jump, most, though not all, of the soreness from yesterday having disappeared.  Her slippers were beside the bed, thankfully, and, yes, that was her robe folded over the chair over there,  She gathered a few personal items and walked out the door. To her left, to her left…  Yes, there was a small white door that almost blended in with the white walls in the small alcove to her left.  She walked in and stared.  She had thought the Head Girl's bathroom was eclectic, but this was nothing compared to several dozen random paintings and shifting colors.  There was a rainbow colored waterfall in one facet of the hexagonal room.  The center was an enormous hexagonal bath tub in a gorgeous natural stone that the waterfall pooled into.  Hermione shrugged and moved on to examine the right side of the enormous bathroom.  There was but one painting, of a mischievous little satyr leaning out of the picture and giggling cheerfully at her.  It was tucked next to the massive mirror that hung above the equally massive countertop and sink.  In something of a daze, Hermione placed her stuff on it and filled the tub with clear hot water and a soft scent she found.  Then she wandered confusedly out of the room. It was just a little too much. In fact, she was very surprised that Madame Pomfrey would have such an opulent room in her austere facility.  She could have sworn that it was different before.  She leaned against the doorframe, staring at the white expanse of wall across from her to give her eyes a rest when she heard a soft chuckle from her left._

            "Ah, I see that it does that to you, too.  Poppy can't figure out why, whenever I stay here, her pristine conformist bathroom turns into **that monstrosity in there.  Too bad you have to be subjected to it as well."  Professor Snape smiled at her and Hermione found the expression oddly handsome.  She shook her head and looked at him with a blank, politely puzzled gaze.**

            "Monstrosity?  Do you think?  I was simply delighted when I saw it.  So…elegant."  She raised an eyebrow in unconscious imitation of his own dry delivery and put a wealth of expression into the word elegant.  The Head of Slytherin inclined his head in acknowledgement of the Gryffindor's skillful dissembling,

            "Then you have horrible taste." Hermione laughed out loud at his calculatedly blunt statement.  Then she remembered that there was most likely a reason her Potions Master had come up here.  Certainly not to visit _her.  _

            "Sir?" she asked.

            "There was a minor skirmish between a clumsy Hufflepuff and a rather irate Gryffindor in the Great Hall this morning which resulted in a few hexes being thrown.  Nothing serious, as the word minor dictates, but Poppy nonetheless had a few wounds to clean up and asked me if I could come up and check on you before I went to my first class.  I assume that you are in need of nothing and have discovered the tray?"

            Hermione nodded and Snape did the same, causally stepping away and leaving without another word.  What a very odd man, she thought.  But still, for the third time in as many days, she had to reflect upon the power he carried with him.  She shook her head in confusion and walked back into the eyesore of a bathroom, fully intent upon relaxing during her bath and thinking of nothing but the swirl of the water.  

            Severus walked back to the dungeons of Hogwarts with his customary speed but a rather different mindset than usual.  Instead of betting himself how many students would ruin their potions in the next class period, what houses they would be from and who, exactly, they would be, he was inhaling the subtle scent that had wafted into his trained Potion Master's nose.  Flora but with a hint of sharpness.  Perhaps a citrus. Whatever it was, he certainly didn't recall it being there on his last forced hospital stay over the summer. He frowned in confusion, and quickly turned it into a glare which sent chills up the spine of the young student who was trying to sneak flobberworm guts into Hannah Abott's schoolbag.

            "Twenty points from Ravenclaw.  I will, most likely mistakenly, assume that you have all read the text assigned for today?"  As he paused, there were nods about the classroom.  Although these were 7th year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, he still maintained his doubts about their capabilities of anything.  Still, why not give them the benefit of the doubt?  A little pop quiz would surely prove that everyone in the room had read- and comprehended- the material.  "Splendid.  Then I'm sure that you will all enjoy the points you will be gaining on this little pop quiz.  Take out a quill and a piece of parchment and take down the following questions.  You will have exactly twenty minutes after I read the last question to complete your answers, and anyone who does not get a nearly perfect score will lose two points from their House…per incorrect answer."  His student's jaws were gaping at him but he spared them no glance.  "First question: in which step of this potion may a Dark substance be substituted for the one listed in such a way as to render the entire potion Dark Magic?  Question two: Name three ways that this potion can be used for good and five in which it can be utilized for Dark purposes.  Question three:…"

            Hermione drew herself up out of the bathtub, shaking a little of the excess water from her skin as she went.  She looked around for a towel and was only a little surprised when one came sailing gently toward her.  She removed the fluffy grey fabric from the ostentatious gold towel hanger, not bothering to stifle a laugh, and wrapped herself warmly into its folds.  Within a few moments she was warm and dry and in the clothes she had grabbed from the room.  She brushed her hair out carefully, wincing as three day's worth of knots untangled, and then she applied the potion she had discovered while researching over the summer.  It was easily made and stored in large quantities for great lengths of time, so she had spent last summer stockpiling enough to make her wild hair the gorgeous sleek thing she thought rather became her.  When she had finished, her stomach was growling loudly enough for her to hastily return to her room and pick up the tray.  Once she was seated on her bed, she stared at the thing, wondering how the hell she was supposed to order her food.  Just shout your order into it, Madame Pomfrey had said, but Hermione thought that she would look rather foolish if she did that.  Her stomach gave a loud grumble.  Hermione shrugged and decided that it was probably better to be fed and look foolish than be dignified and starve.

            She thought for a moment about what she wanted, then, feeling incredibly ridiculous although she was all alone, she leant forward and shouted at her warped reflection in the dull gold platter, " Stuffed grape leaves and pita with hummus, please!"  She felt rather less stupid when her food arrived a few moments later, hot and ready to be eaten.  There was also her traditional mocha coffee, and she blessed the House Elves with all her heart.  She had given up her S.P.E.W. fight when she had realized that they truly were happy with the way things were.  She had known people who adored cleaning other people's messes, had known people who loved to drive others around, so she supposed it would be rather unsporting of her to try and take away what pleased the House Elves. Besides, these grape leaves were divine. 

            Hermione was happily munching away at her food when Madame Pomfrey came back, a little weary, and checked on her.  The girl nodded pleasantly at her, and continued eating her meal.  Poppy was satisfied, and left her alone to eat her meal in peace.  A few minutes later, Hermione pulled the book and notes out from under the covers, and continued her work while eating.  She wanted to get as much done as she could, though she certainly wasn't about to subject herself to the Mediwitch's wrath again.  She frowned thoughtfully as she re-read a slightly confusing paragraph.  It could be interpreted in two ways.  She would have to ask Snape about it when he came back.  Then it occurred to her just how much she had enjoyed last night's conversation and how much she wanted it again.  She was so different from all of her schoolmates.  It wasn't really that she thought herself superior to everyone else but unlike Harry she could not set aside the war raging around the steadily weakening walls of Hogwarts and act like there was nothing going on.  She wanted to do something and working on this potion, even with her hated Potions professor, had seemed like a great idea.  And now that she realized just how much she herself would benefit from working with this brilliant man, she thought it would take an army to stop her from helping.  She smiled until she remembered the army of Death Eaters waiting eagerly for a chance to rush into Hogwarts and prevent people like her from doing things like this.  Her smile faded and she grimly turned the next page in the text

            Ron ran up the stairs, gripping his girlfriend's hand tightly.  He had been so worried when he had heard about her stay at the Infirmary.  The students had been told that there had been a little accident with an advanced project and that she would require bed rest for about a week.  And yet Harry had been so cold…  He knew that they were no longer going out, but hell, he and Hermione were exes as well and they got along just fine.  He still loved Harry, but he couldn't be as blind as the rest of the world was to the way the boy had been acting lately.  And it certainly wasn't as though he was the only person Voldemort had ruined the life of.  And he wasn't the only person in such a situation who wasn't allowed to seek vengeance.  Take Neville, for instance, or poor Dean, whose parents had been randomly targeted.  And he knew that the other muggle-born children were just as worried about their parents or family.  Voldemort was ruthless, and his operations were expanding.  Ella, sensing his mood, turned him toward her for a reassuring kiss just before they got to the Infirmary.  As they entered Madame Pomfrey pointed to a corridor and told them that Hermione was taking a nap at the moment, but that they could set her schoolwork down in the room and visit for a few minutes if she woke up while they were in there.  Ron and Ella walked down to the room and opened it.

            "Oh, I'm so sorry, Hermione!  We didn't mean to be so loud as to wake you!"  Ron grinned at the girl who had looked up from her books with dismay in her eyes when he had flung open the door.

            "Thanks, Ron.  I'm sure Madame Pomfrey heard that.  But I think a few people in China may have missed it.  Why don't you try again, a little louder?" she suggested archly.  Ron gave a laugh and surged forward to give the delicate girl an aggressive hug.

            "That's my 'Mione.  Believe it or not, I was really worried about you, but they wouldn't let me come until today.  They wouldn't tell me what happened either…" Ron frowned when his fiancé poked him in the ribs.  "What?"  Ella just gave him a look, then turned to greet Hermione.  They weren't close friends, but she was a very nice girl and Hermione thought she and Ron were absolutely great for each other.

            "Hi, Hermione.  I hope you're feeling better.  And, much as I know how much you like it, we did bring something other than schoolwork."  She smiled shyly at the girl on the bed and produced a small box of Hermione's favorite candies and the newest book in a muggle series she had begun to read over the summer.  Hermione vaguely recalled mentioning it to the blond girl, who was also muggleborn, and was enchanted at her thoughtfulness.

            "That's so sweet of you both.  Have a seat, tell me how the wedding plans are going!"  

            "We'd like to, but only if we're sure that we aren't interrupting anything important?"  Ron gestured at the mess of papers and books on her bed.  Hermione smiled and quickly shoved them off in an organized pile on the floor.

            "No, just an extra project I'm working on.  So, last time, you were telling me that you were having trouble figuring out the best charms that would allow the muggles to see all of Ron's relatives as common muggles.  Did you think about the Guise charm?"  

            "Yeah, but we weren't sure that it would work all right with such a large number of people.  I mean, Arthur and Molly have made it plain that we are to ask them for any help at all, but we'd also like to do as much as we could by ourselves," Ella answered.  Hermione nodded in understanding then described an article she had recently been reading about the charm which should allay their worries about it's effectiveness on a large group.  They continued talking until Madame Pomfrey came to the door of the room, clearing her throat in a no-nonsense way.  Ella and Ron reluctantly took the hint and departed, giving Hermione fond farewells and promises of a visit with her work until she got out of the Infirmary. Hermione, in a pleasant mood after their drop over, realized that she had best do her homework before Snape got there.   

**Ok. So I hope you liked that.  I'm very glad that I just went over that for corrections, although I don't usually, as there were a whole lot of little mistakes.  However, as its late and I'm not the brightest bulb in the house, please point out any and all corrections you have for me.  Or questions.  In fact, any and all reviews… ;)  I'd like to thank all of my reviewers a ton:**

**Madeleine Jete: Thank you and I'm glad you like it.  The Key…  There are obviously antidotes to a great number of potions.  I don't believe that Voldemort would have chosen an immortality elixir with an already created antidote, therefore they have to make one.  However, due to the intricacies of the potion Voldemort used to resurrect himself, there isn't a simple antidote that can be brewed.  Also, this potion does not cover natural stuff, such as sleep, but very wide and complex things (immortality/resurrection).  And the last reason they cannot simply make an antidote is that they want to do more than just reverse the process that Voldemort did on the night of the last Triwizard Tournament event.  They want to erase the effect it had on all the other potions he has taken, including the one that gives him immortality.  This is why they need a Key, which goes beyond the confinements of simply an antidote.  That was a perhaps vain attempt to clear up "the Key concept" but please feel free to email me if you want more clarification or if you have other questions.**

**Janet- Well, I personally think this is quickly, as opposed to *cough* Raven Mooore!**

**Naut2b- Glad to hear it and hope you like the rest!**

**Alice- Wow, thank you so much****J**

**Tracy****- Thanks for the holiday wishes and the praises; here is the next chapter****J**


	8. Chapter Eight

**_Disclaimer: Now if it were mine, would I be writing fanfiction stories about it?  Didn't think so; no, its J.K. Rowling's._**

**So, this chapter was finished at one in the morning when I should have been studying for exams.  That's a really bad thing, right?  Well, anyhow, please be aware that this chapter has mention of torture.  I don't think it is particularly graphic, but it is there and I wanted to let y'all know that.  And Bright Eyes, which has nothing to do with this story or chapter whatsoever, is an awesome group (****Sunrise****, sunset…).  Please review, and I really hope that you enjoy.  **

_Hermione, in a pleasant mood after their visit, realized that she had best do her homework before Snape got there._

Severus surged out of his dungeons in a foul mood.  His Dark Mark was appearing again, although it was not altogether unexpected as it had been exactly a week since his last visit with the Dark Lord.  It was also, though doubted deliberate, the same day that Hermione was to be getting out of the Infirmary.  Amazingly enough, her help had succeeded in more than doubling his normal research time, and he had even gotten some sleep into the bargain.  She had also actually held up her end of the bargain and gone over all the material that he had brought in for her.  And Poppy had mentioned that she was an exemplary patient.  Now Severus was no fool.  He knew that there were only so many hours in a day no matter how fast as reader one was.  But he had monitored Miss. Granger's recovery personally, in addition to Poppy's expert readings, and the girl was fine.  He would have to send a message to her room and tell her that tonight's session was to be called off.  He would skip dinner in the Great Hall tonight, but he had to contact Albus first.  

            He entered the Great Hall by the small teacher's side entrance, built specifically for times like this when discretion was imperative.  He slipped near Albus's chair and whispered his mission in the man's ear.  No one had really noticed his entrance save Minerva, who rarely missed anything.  The Headmaster acknowledged him, told him to be damned careful and told him that if he came home dead he wouldn't let his ghost near the dungeons.  Thus admonished, Snape fairly ran back to his chambers and out his hidden entrance, again unheeding of the gaze that followed is figure out of the Hall.  The pain Voldemort was sending him through his DarK Mark was even more excruciating than usual, and Severus wondered if **this time he really had been found out.  Not bloody likely, considering how well pleased Voldemort had been with his performance at the Revel last week.  He had grabbed his robes as he ran past his chamber and taken the time to put them on as he carefully warded his rooms.  Then he had continued his swift pace out the door and through the grounds till he could Apparate.**

            Snape snapped back into focus, now in Romania.  He had seen the creepy manor Voldemort held there just before he had prostrated himself over the ground.

            "Severus, rise, my dear boy.  This is a quick meeting, I just thought I could do to hear the progress my most loyal members are making on their missions.  We're just waiting for Fudge to get here.  He seems to have some sort of problem with Apparating as quickly as the rest of you do.  I think we'll have to call him on that, don't you boys?"  There was hearty laughter in anticipation of the cruelty soon to be afflicted on their comrade, but Severus knew just how forced it was.  They all knew that next time it could be them.  Severus, thus given permission to straighten up, did so.  He gave the assortment of men a cool look-over, knowing that there would be no surprises in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.  Yes, Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, his wife, himself, Macnair, his sister Avaira Zabini, Pettigrew, the Lestranges who had escaped from Azkaban with the Dark Lord's help shortly after his rise, and Fudge was to arrive soon. There were others, many others, but these were the significant ones.  Even he wasn't positive what they were all doing, though he had been able to garner clues from the coded reports the Dark Lord had them all make.  Malfoy and Macnair and Fudge were all up to things at the Ministry, Avery and Nott were doing something with the Dark creatures, Crabbe and Goyle were simply being the muscle that they were and helping the others when it was needed, and the Lestranges were scoping out muggle movement.  The most successful areas had been small-scale muggle attacks, two or three at a time, and slow but certain corruption in the Ministry.  The targeting of mudblood student's families had gone badly, although there had been some exceptions.  The failure rate was largely due to Snape's efforts.  It was the least he could do; maybe someday he would get lucky and this would all be over.  Or he'd be dead.  Snape was immediately aware the second Fudge Apparated outside the circle in the trees; Voldemort often had his followers Dark Marks activated to different places in case he had something he wanted to do or say individually.

            Fudge came absolutely running from the copse of trees, eyes wide and terrified, pleading with the Dark Lord desperately that there was an excuse, that he hadn't meant it.  They all knew it was in vain.  A lazy flick of Voldemort's wand and Fudge was writhing in the center of the circle from pain such as only the _crucio__ could inflict.  Snape saw Macnair lick his lips.  Although they could all imagine themselves to be the one with pain pulsing through every vain, Macnair was like a jackal; his favorite prey the wounded.  _

            "I'm rather sick of Fudge's incompetence.  Macnair, perhaps you'd like to teach him that a good Death Eater gets _results."  He growled the last word, turning a chilling gaze onto all those gathered.  Macnair smiled cruelly and bowed to his Lord._

            "It would be my pleasure, my Lord."  He grabbed the bag he always brought to meetings and strode into the center of the circle, oozing dominance over the weak-willed Minister, now suffering the after-affects of the curse.  Voldemort smiled and nodded his approval, then turned to the rest of the Circle.

            "You may break ranks and enjoy the unexpected entertainment Cornelius has provided us with.  I will be speaking with each of you before you leave, though."  No one noticed; no one would ever notice, but Snape barely kept himself from gritting his teeth and screaming in frustration.  Instead of enjoying a conversation with a brilliant student in the fight against this monster standing to his left, he would be stuck here for hours talking to the mindless brutes that were his peers.  And that made eavesdropping on their conversations and those of Voldemort's that much more difficult.  Macnair could make torture last for an interminable amount of time.  He was the master of causing the maximum amount of physical pain with the least amount of physical marking, but he was a rather inept wizard.  Snape was considered the best at psychological torture, a banner which served to torture him as much as anything he ever did to any of his victims.  Narcissa came simpering up to him at that point.

            "Severus," she cooed in what she much mistakenly thought of as a seductive voice," how _have you been?  Lucius and I have been wondering when you would join us at the Manor for a simple social visit.  You always turn down invitations to gatherings, lately.  Why, you missed a simply divine little party of the Parkinson's last week.  Really, the other families in our circle are beginning to wonder if you're absolutely __determined to sully the proud Snape name!"  Severus kept himself from rolling his eyes.  The name of Snape had been sullied the moment his father was born.  He had simply dragged it further into the mud, though not in the way that Narcissa seemed to think.  His father had been a proud arrogant bastard determined to bend everyone he came in contact with to his will.  His mother was delicate, pretty, and a spineless bitch, determined to pick at anyone who did not live up to her own standards.  They had made a fine pair and achieved a wonderfully miserable life together.  Their favorite object of ridicule had naturally been their son, not up to their standards in anything but academics.  And, really, who cared about that?  His grandparents were all dead by the time he was born, leaving his parents with an enormous lot of money.  Neither of them ever worked a day in their lives.  They had both died in a boating accident when he was thirteen, leaving him everything; the money, the houses, the scandals they had been so fond of causing, and the loneliness.  _

            "Terribly sorry, Narcissa.  But frankly, your little parties bore me to death.  Only the Dark Lord's work interests _me," he sneered.  There we go, he thought.  Put the little bitch in her place.  Remind her that I'm better than everyone here.  But he knew it was false.  He was lower than the very mud that clung to his shoes.  The blond-haired woman gave a little sniff and wandered off to complain to someone about how horrid he was.  No one would pay her any heed.  Although a vicious woman in her own right, all of her power and wealth came from Lucius.  He strode away to gather what he could from his compatriot's conversations, double checking the story he and Dumbledore had planned for him to feed to Voldemort and trying to ignore the base howls of pains coming from so near by._

An especially loud scream from Fudge's already abused vocal cords brought everyone's attention back to the scene of the torture.  Severus could smell the blood and vomit and feces clearly although he stood a good deal away.  It was the curse of being a Death Eater and a Potions Master concurrently.  Voldemort had worked his way through the crowd of Death Eaters in the past hour and Severus had had a fair amount of success with his spying.  The Potions Master was the last one that the Dark Lord approached.  He personified ease itself as the reptilian man walked to him.  He gave Voldemort a deep obeisance, forcing himself not to shiver when he felt a chill hand caress his head.  He straightened in acknowledgement of the unspoken command.

"Severus, Severus.  What progress have you made with your spying on the Order and the location of muggle parents?"

"The Order is still refusing to launch an offensive attack per the Old Fool's orders, though Bill Weasley has been arguing strongly for one.  There has been talk of inducting Harry Potter to the order, as he already knows about it, but I spoke convincingly about how much horror he has already had in his poor, young life, and they all backed off, agreeing to let him keep his innocence for a little longer."  His voice dripped with loathing and sarcasm for the members of the Order.  He could have easily won a muggle acting award, as there were no people he respected more.  In truth, he didn't even really loath the little shit of a Potter boy, simply that James had been a prick and Harry was turning into one, as his behaviour to Hermione proved.  No, he wouldn't sully her name by even thinking about her while in the direct presence of the Dark Lord.  It may be superstitious, but Severus allowed himself a few foibles now and then.  

"Yes, we will have to take care of Weasley.  Could a potion be slipped into his tea, perhaps?  A horribly painful one?"  Little amused the Dark Lord more than torture.  Severus only wished he had realized that twenty years ago.  

"I will look into it, my Lord."  He spoke as though he relished the idea of taking Bill Weasley's bright life.  Thank whatever deities weren't in Heaven that Voldemort was nowhere near as omniscient as the "Old Fool".  

Voldemort nodded in satisfaction, then pulled Severus to the circle that had gathered around Macnair, who was putting the final touches on his work on Fudge.  

"I've come to a decision, Cornelius.  Would you like to hear it?  No answer?  Well, I do suppose I will tell you anyways.  I don't tolerate failure.  I don't tolerate anything save a complete surrender of your mind, soul…and body.  The rest of you would do well top keep this in mind.  Mcnair."  Voldemort's voice was soft and crooning, and the man on the ground whimpered in fright of what he knew that voice was ordering.  The rest of the circle, save Snape, flinched as one.  Macnair plunged a dagger into the man's stomach so that a great deal of blood erupted into the air, falling on the surrounding Death Eaters.  Snape calmly wiped a drop off his check and licked his finger slowly, telling his rebellious stomach that this was a part he must play.  Voldemort's wide red eyes flared approvingly, and that bony, freezing hand patted his back. 

"Meeting dismissed."  He turned to the Potions Master.  "Don't forget about our plans for Mr. Weasley, Severus.  Have a good night; perhaps there will be a Gryffindor sneaking about in the castle you can have some fun with."  The man nodded, an image of Miss. Granger flashing eerily before his eyes, before he turned away from his Master with a final bow and Disapparated. 

            Severus stumbled onto the ground near the boundaries of the wards of Hogwarts, nearly falling before his innate grace caught him.  He straightened, but it only lasted until an enormous wave of nausea swept over him.  It forced him to his hands and knees, retching the blood, the screams, the touch of Voldemort out of his system.  He retched until he could no longer.  He longed to stay here, in the cool night air with the sound of the Forbidden Forest ringing in his ears and the feel of solid, virginal earth beneath his hands.  But there was work to be done.  He took a shuddering breath and picked himself up, intending to report to Dumbledore immediately.  He cleansed himself with a few flicks of his wand.  There was no need to show his weakness of to his employer any more than necessary.  A moment later, and the grounds of Hogwarts were once again unsullied by human presence.  

            Hermione sat at the dining table, waiting for dinner to be over so that she could escape the looks that pounded her from all sides of the Hall.  Dumbledore had stopped over midway through dinner to tell her that Professor Snape was unable to work with her that night, having underestimated the amount of time a certain personal project of his would take.  It had taken all of Hermione's control not to snort; the meticulous Potions Master being wrong about something, and so blatant as time estimation?  Never.  What did the Headmaster take her for?  But she had let the obvious lie slide, instead choosing to nod respectfully to the man who was a rock in this sea of wartime.  She pushed another pea around her plate, then lifted it to her mouth and bit into it.  She nearly screamed when she heard Harry's voice in her ear, even though he was sitting on her right side.  She wasn't sure how that had happened, only that Ronald Weasley meddled rather more than was good for him.  

            "What…I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said to me."

            "I asked if you were going to the Quidditch game tomorrow.  Its Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, and Ron told me to tell you that Ella, being the keeper and all, would love it if you showed up."  Monotone.  

            "I suppose you'll be cheering for, oh, what's her name?  Or has it changed in the past week, Harry?  I certainly wouldn't be surprised.  But you may tell that interfering busybody that I have work that I…yes.  And he can tell Ella that I wish her luck, I know she was very excited about making the team this year,"  Harry turned away from her to relay the message, and no further communication occurred between the two the rest of the meal.   

            When at last Hermione judged she would be able to leave without causing a buzz of gossip, she exited the Great Hall, wondering what she was going to do since Snape was unable to show.  For reasons that the Headmaster thought she was better of not knowing.  Well, she would trust the man's judgment, certainly, but she still felt as though they needed to trust her more.  I mean, if they believe in me enough to be an asset in making this potion, the least they could do is assume that I'm not going to blab my mouth off about things, she thought with a little bitterness.  She entered the Head Girl room, not having to go through the Common Room to get to them.  For this, she was extremely thankful.  She didn't know that she could take the hostility she had felt the first time she had walked through their with Ron after getting Madame Pomfrey's okay to leave the Infirmary after breakfast.  She had been in it only momentarily, when she had dropped off her books before rushing to see her professors to secure times to do make-up work and go over homework that she had not yet gotten back.  It was the same as it had always been.  She didn't know why she had had the funny idea that it had changed.  She shrugged at her vagaries and settled down to make sure that she had all of her weekend homework done before Sunday.  That way, perhaps she and Professor Snape could set up time tomorrow to replace what they had wanted to do today.  

            Hours later, shoulders hurting from slumping over books and papers, but nonetheless satisfied with the completion of her work and the fact that she had finally been able to utilize her private rooms, Hermione stretched and stood up.  She store her work away with a quick flick of her wand.  Debating upon bathing now or tomorrow morning, she searched through her drawers for her favorite nightwear.  By the time she had pulled the long, simple nightshirt out, she had decided that she wanted one tonight, then a quick refreshing shower tomorrow.  Grabbing some underwear as well, she walked into her bathroom, which was already preparing a bath with her favorite scent and temperature.  It was amazing that, horrendous as that bathroom in the Infirmary was, it had contained her favorite scent.  Within moments, she was relaxing in the steaming water.  Moments later, she gave an enormous splash as she tried to keep herself from falling asleep in the deep tub.  Realizing that she was rather more tired than she would have liked to admit, she finished bathing and turned down the covers of her inviting looking bed.  And yet once she was firmly ensconced between the sheets, she could do nothing but toss and turn, alternately hot and cold without reason.  Her mind was both racing too fast for sleep and going too slowly to be rhythmic.  In frustration, she threw her covers off and, reaching for her wand, summoned her robe and slippers.  There's only one thing for it, she thought as she tied the sash of the robe tightly and stepped outside into the corridor.

**Okay, so we're all wondering where Hermione is going, right?  Right, well the muses actually deigned to tell me, but I can't make any promises as to when the next chapter is going to come.  Instead, please leave a note in your review or email me at amariran@yahoo.com and tell me if you would like me to put you on a mailing list for the next chapter.  My textbook awaits studying, so I'll write out my review replies quickly and then post up.**

**Much thanks to: Sarah T., Robyn, Usuu Bishouji, lollylips3, and Ferguspork (where did you get that name?); your kind words were much encouraging.  **

**Loony Lupin: Glad you like me characterizations, the paragraphing I will try to attend to, but it does take an enormous amount of time, so I will see how it goes.  Yeah, I think Ron is going to be very sweet in this story.  Harry already tried to visit, if you will recall.  He came with his Invisibility Cloak while Hermione was looking over the potions research on Sunday; she didn't notice him, he felt bad, so he left.  Its in chapter five.  **

**Angel of the North: Oh, gods, do I know that its cliché.  And I'm sorry for it, but the muses control the story and they alone will decide what goes into it.  But I thinak you much for the compliment about my writing style.  Harry is not a main character yet, as far as I know, but I think we'll get to know him some more as the story goes on. I have a great idea, I'm just not sure the story will let me put it in.**

**Janet: You insane person; what book from the fearless series are you talking about?  Yes, the grape leaves are from Aladdins, or maybe the Greek Festival.  Damn it, now I'm hungry.  Well, at least I don't have school at the moment.  There was a caring side of Snape in the last chapter??  Erm, you do realize that you mistyped want so that it said wank an since you were speaking britspeak…*snicker*.  Anyhow, thanks for reading and reviewing.**

**Madeleine Jete: Hope you had a good New Year's yourself, I did, and I am very glad that you decided to check out JOH.  Thanks for them kind words;)**

**Eternal Queen: Glad that you agree with my gradual romance; it may take a while, but it will eventually get there, muses willing.  Thank you!**


	9. Chapter Nine

**_Disclaimer: Wow, I'm so flattered you think its mine.  But it isn't.  The plot is, but it isn't particularly original.  J.K. Rowling's…_**

**Hmm, I am getting ready to go out, so not only am I in a hurry, but I have the horrible knowledge that this chapter is, as with my other story, not so long as I usually make it.  And I won't have a chance to post this until Sunday or maybe late Saturday, since I have a big competition tomorrow.  I get to get up at 6 thirty on a Saturday morning.  Yay.  I am so incredibly sorry that this chapter took me so long to get out, but I have two stories going and I was searching for chapter ten of this one as I was writing chapter nine.  Didn't work, the muses don't like to let on too far in the future.  Hope everyone likes this chapter; there isn't a lot of action or anything, that all is going to come later…perhaps next chapter.  Please feed the muses with reviews so that they get sugar-highs (even if its from criticism).  They are so damn funny when that happens!  Oh, and btw, if you read (not sure why you would be in chapter nine in this case) and are tempted to leave the review: you simply suck as an author, don't ever try this again, come back when you've actually got some ability…please DO.  I'm so worried that I suck because I have recently read a whole lot of trash in this ship (which I am drawn to because it draws more talented and mature authors) and I really don't "WAnt too b one f them" , especially unknowingly! IMPORTANT: I made several mistakes (don't I always) with ages and time: upon numerous recountings, we realize that Harry is seventeen, not eighteen as it says in the first chapter of this story and Snape has not inhabited the dungeons for almost twenty years, but sixteen.  Sorry, and the second one is very important, but the first one is a commonly made error that I noticed and only now decided I ought to fix.  Just seems so odd to my American ways****J**  Also, only one person seems interested in having me email them when I update, but the offer still stands open if anyone wants me to.****

_There's only one thing for it, she thought as she tied the sash of the robe tightly and stepped outside into the corridor._

Albus heard Severus's story calmly, offering the man a lemon drop when he had finished.  He pretended that he couldn't sense the powerful cleansing spells the man had recently used.  He pretended that he couldn't sense the downward spiral this young man was taking.  He was damn sick of pretending.  He kept a cheerful outward persona at all times for several reasons.  It reassured those loyal to him and those who depended on him and it confused the hell out of his enemies.  But there were times…there were time when he just wanted to weep with what he had to send those who were like flesh and blood out to do for him.  It was one of the reasons he would not allow Harry to the front lines.  Best to let him keep what little innocence he still had, and even that was hardly anything to speak of.  Severus had no innocence left, and the Headmaster felt it keenly every time he laid eyes on the man who would always be a boy to him.  He was at a loss as to what to do.  Severus could not keep this up indefinitely, no matter what he insisted upon.  He would be found out sooner or later, and they had yet to develop a feasible plan for the saving of their spy's skin.  And it was no help that Severus refused to be party to any such contingency.  Albus knew that he felt that he could never atone for all that he had done both while he was truly a Death Eater and now when he was on the Light side, but well over a century had given the Headmaster a fair amount of experience.  He wished he knew what he could do to make Severus realize that there were things in life other than endless contrition.  But right now, there was nothing more to be done than sit in his office and discuss who would be named the Minister of Magick.  He talked the younger man into sitting in one of the comfortable, soft chairs that filled one side of his circular office and took a seat opposite.  They spoke in low tones as though they would be overheard, urgency compelling them to wrack their brains for answers, for solutions.  None came.  __

            The halls were quiet and slightly drafty and even Hermione's thick robe could not keep her from shivering as she padded to her destination.  As Head Girl, she could not get into trouble for being out past curfew, but run-ins with Filch were always unpleasant.  She wondered idly whether Snape would be making his patrols tonight, but immediately dismissed the thought.  No one ever came near where she was about to go.  It was her own special spot.  She pressed a gentle hand to the wall and felt the cold stone melt away into nothingness, revealing a small room.  She was not near any House, as far as she knew, nor were there any classroom near this secret room.  She had stumbled upon it quite by accident during one of her customary insomniacal rambles through the castle in the restless hours before her body forced sleep on her recalcitrant mind.  Hermione felt lucky to have uncovered this solitary retreat in her first week of school.  Otherwise, she had no doubt that either she would be much more sleep deprived, or attempting to make herself comfortable in the drafty Astronomy Tower.  She shuddered at that thought.  Being Head Girl came with some wonderful privileges and she usually even enjoyed most of her responsibilities, but there were some things that she would rather be kept in the dark about.  The professor's rule regarding the Astronomy Tower being one of them.  It was that unless students weren't of age or were being terribly indiscreet, there were to be no questions asked.  She knew that most of the Seventh Years and Sixth Years had already had…experiences, but she didn't really want to know about them, let alone encounter them when trying to seek peace.  She paused in the entrance to the room, letting the stale air be replaced by that of the corridor.  She stepped in and the charms she had made so that the lights would turn on in increments were activated with her presence.  The candles in the old-fashioned wall sconces were one of the things she loved most about this place.  She smiled and took a quick turn around the room, making sure that all was as she had left it.  Naturally, the walls were the same black color that should have disturbed her but did the opposite, comforting her too active mind.  There was a normal looking door to the outside, and gorgeous French doors on the opposite side of the rectangular room, set with a dark wood that she had never decided on the origin of.  The same dark wood also made up the mantle above the dark red brick fireplace.  The mantle had been bare when she had first found the room, but over the past few months she had put a few things in to save conjuring.  There was a charming little mirror she had picked up in Hogsmeade that would have been extraneous with the large mirror that had come furnished with her room, a mug, and a few muggle pictures that she had taken over the summer.  She had discovered that she had a true enjoyment of the past time, and it was one of the few things that she liked to do in spite of her lack of ability for it.  She walked over to pick up her favorite, a scenic shot of the lake near the vacationing spot her parents had chosen.  There were rolling green hills misted over with a thick fog, and there was swirling vapor rising from the lake.  An overhanging tree behind her had added shadow to the picture, and she rather thought it looked good with the slate grey sky.  The sky was her favorite part of the snapshot: that hopeless grey, but with a fierce and powerful strike of lightning splitting it defiantly in half.  It had been pure luck that the lightning had come just as she was about to take another only average picture. A smile ghosted over her lips as she recalled the thrill of seeing it for the first time when she had developed it.  She put it back carefully and turned around in her surveillance of the room.  Yes, there were the two plush chairs of a soft silver color, and the maroon sofa that was large enough for her small form to fit on horizontally.  She would not like to have this room all the time, simply because it made for such a splendid place to 'get away from it all.'  She walked out to the best part of the place, trailing her hand idly over the soft, sensual fabric of the sofa as she passed it.  She grasped the worn doorknobs and pulled the French doors open to reveal a small balcony.  It looked as though no one had been on it in months, but she had actually been here just a little over a week ago.  She had found the dust charm in an esoteric book she had gotten out of the library for light reading and had realized that it would greatly help relieve her fears of someone discovering both her secret haunt and the fact that she made visits there.  It was also easily put on and removed.  She performed the latter charm and stepped onto the pretty rough hewn stone, her slippers making an odd scritch on the ground.  There had been an old black wrought-iron lounge chair out here when she had first gathered the courage to find out what lay behind the forbidding doors.  A few repairing and cleaning charms later, plus the addition of some simple black cushions she had purchased in Hogsmeade, and it made for the most comfortable spot for late-night contemplation she had ever found.  She whispered the quiet sounds of a warming spell over herself.  Then Hermione sat down with a relieved sigh, looking at the panoramic view the balcony afforded of some of the most scenic areas of Hogwarts, especially the lake.  The single sliver of moonlight that hung suspended in the midnight sky illuminated the still figure of the girl as she lay lost in thought in her own private world.   

            Severus was finished with his report to the Headmaster.  Seeing the pain in the man's eyes when he heard about that night's events hurt him.  Dumbledore had been trying to talk him out of spying since the summer he began, but the man would never succeed.  Wiser than any wizard living, and most who were not, the Headmaster still could not fully understand Severus's need to make whatever paltry compensations he could to the world that he had wronged so much.  Only one who has fully touched Dark can understand what it is like when you have forsaken it.  Scorned, it is a force beyond reckoning.  An undefeatable force that Severus had been striving against for years, and would continue to do so until his long-awaited death day.  He lived through every moment, waiting until he next went to Voldemort and heard the Dark's taunting, seductive whisper in his ears.  This was his life.  

The two men had stayed and talked over the ramifications of the Minister's death (Merlin how he loathed those sinking, soft chairs of Dumbledore's).  Both realized that the Dark Lord had not acted hastily.  Irrationally, yes, but Voldemort had enough people in his pocket at the ministry that he could put whoever he so chose in the position of Minister of Magick.  The million galleon question was whether Voldemort's puppet could be convinced to put his strings in their hands, or if he was truly loyal to the Dark.  Severus found the idea of a 'truly loyal' Death Eater really rather humorous.  After all, Slytherins were well known for their ambition, not loyalty; and no matter how much it appeared to the contrary, every Death Eater was only out for themselves.  Even his allegiance to Dumbledore, unshakeable as he knew it to be, was for the self-serving interest of penitence.  He gave a short and bitter laugh.

   Now, he was going to go purge himself of the memories of the night.  He had discarded the idea of work, knowing that he was not able to produce anything useful, and a hot bath seemed too normal.  It was not for the likes of him.  That was what, say, muggle insurance salesman did when they had a bad day.  Even if he wasn't positive about what an insurance salesman was.  Instead, he went to the only place where he could find release, where no one expected him to be anything.  He was not Professor Snape, he was not Master Snape, he was not Severus Snape, and no one cared that he was nothing because no one was there.  Although he admitted freely the consequences of having a hiding place, he felt no more liking of people than he had as a student at Hogwarts.  In fact, he had discovered this place in his sixth year.  Sneaking out was not nearly so difficult when no one tended to notice that you were there at all, so he could get away from the Slytherin dormitory almost as often as he had needed to.  He had returned to his favorite hiding place of youth when he became a teacher, when he became a spy.    

It took awhile to reach the place, especially as he was so paranoid as to be continually searching for someone following him.  But once he was there, he knew he was safe.  He had put so many protective wards about the entire wing that he was sure that no one save Dumbledore had enough power to even see it, let alone get in.  Even the bloody Boy-Who-Lived didn't have the strength; or rather, didn't have the wit to use what raw power he did possess.  If he did, perhaps Snape wouldn't need this place anymore.  He'd be getting all the peace and rest in the world in whatever afterlife there was.  Any student would have looked at him and had a fit of shock from seeing their stern teacher without his shields.  He kept his masks about him even his private rooms, as they were easily accessible by the other teachers and, though to a lesser extent, to students as well.  He was a Head of House, and a troublesome one at that.  Here, he could relax his iron control, but it could never be for more than a few hours and once a week at most.  He had duties.  He had responsibilities, and he could not shirk them simply because he was at his breaking point.  He would not allow it.  But now, after tonight, he felt that perhaps a small award was warranted.  Just an hour or so.  An hour of solitude.  He never realized that what Dumbledore said was right; he didn't need solitude, he needed quiet company.  Perhaps his ruminations almost a week ago had been correct.  Was this self-imposed lonesomeness really voluntary, or did he secretly crave the companionship of someone else?  Well, whatever the truth of the matter, the one thing he did know was that he had to do something to get the taste of Fudge's blood out of his mouth.  Even vomiting hadn't been able to do it.  He pressed a long, thin hand to the wall and felt it recognize him, granting him access instantaneously.  

As he gently lit the wall sconces, he glanced around to ensure that all was in order.  Yes, the sparse room was dusty from months of disuse, but still intact.  A single chair, a bookshelf, and a table.  A few bottles of liquor and a few glasses set on the mantle.  Sometimes, getting drunk was the only answer.  Though certainly not for poor Miss. Granger.  Hermione.  He thought about the girl he had come to know just a little bit better in the past week.  She was not, after all, completely repugnant, despite her Gryffindor nature.  He would never admit that perhaps it was because of it.  He paused right inside the doorway, which had already closed behind him.  What did he feel like doing tonight?  He didn't find it very difficult to answer that question.  He moved to the fireplace, although he forbore igniting it.  He didn't wish to ward away the November chill that bit the air.  He was still clothed in his Death Eater robes.  It was a wonder that no one had seen him as he walked through the castle.  What a scene it would be if a student were to find out about his…other life.  He realized that he had been gazing down at the cold grate and quickly grabbed a bottle of his favorite scotch, aged appropriately, and poured himself a stiff drink.  He wouldn't get drunk tonight, he decided.  Just buzzed enough to forget a little bit.  Sipping idly at the amber liquid, he felt the rush of fire it gave him.  But he was no alcoholic; he could not afford such weakness, walking the tight rope as he did every day.  He rolled his neck around sinuously to release, at least for a few moments, some of the tension gathered there.  Then Snape summoned a set of robes he kept in the hidden closet there and exchanged his filthy clothing for fresher ones. Well, they were fresher once he had applied a few spells to them.  At least they didn't have the sordid taint of the Death Eaters and Voldemort.  Thus adorned, he moved to the balcony that lay beyond the simple double doors at the far side of the small room.  He stepped out into the cool night air and relished the chill as it seeped through his thin robes.  He took a few deep breaths but it was not helping.  His mind was still reeling with unending self loathing and he could not function like this.    

Not bothering to charm away the dust that had gathered there since the last time he had been able to get out here, he simply sat on the freezing stone and stared moodily out at the grounds of Hogwarts, willing some amount of relief to come to him.  Suddenly, without rational thought, he stood and let out a cry of desperation and fury and emotions that no human should have to recognize, let alone harbor within their self.  It rang out against the night, defiant even in its wretchedness.  This was the only place he could let go of his carefully constructed persona, and tonight he intended to take full advantage of that fact.  He pounded his fist on the metal railing, relishing the pain it sent racing in jags through the side of his hand.  He did it again, harder.  Severus took a deep shuddering breath, perhaps to cry out again, when he heard a noise that did not belong to the natural night.  He froze.  That wasn't possible.  He had put up so many wards around this entire wing, it should have been impenetrable to any but Dumbledore even if they had been searching for it.  And yet his fiercely searching eyes made out another pair, wide eyed and staring.  Hermione Granger, two balconies away.  

**Heeheehee****.****  I wonder what is going to happen next.  Will Severus go ballistic?  Will Hermione run away?  Will they gaze into each others eyes and realize the pure love that they harbor for each other and that will vanquish that nasty old Dark Lord because it is sooo wonderful?  Sorry, but the last one ain't happening.  But this is a SS/HG romance, don't worry.  I actually don't know what is going to happen, but I hope to write as soon as I get this posted.  Please, I will love you forever if you review, as I do those who did so for the last chapter: **

**Lollylips3: Umm, thank-you very much, but as I haven't yet decided on whether Harry is gay, and in any occasion, he would be bisexual, since he has only dated girls so far.  Thence, the term 'faggot' doesn't really work.  He is just a messed up young man who is currently acting like a prick.  I thank you muchly for your approval and for voicing it, just please try to keep the homophobic terms out of it.  Glad you like it.**

**Xanthos****: Wow, I love that you like this.  There actually won't be romance scenes *soon* I don't think, but they will definitely be there.  If you read closely (or not so closely, I'm not really good enough to be particularly subtle) then you know that I've been laying the groundwork, but I don't want a sudden and unwarranted student-teacher relationship.  **

**Nocturnus****: Don't worry about your grammar, I just appreciate that you reviewed.  Severus will be showing little bits of tenderness, and I tried to put some in already (if you notice, he thinks about Hermione rather nicely).  Please tell me if you don't think I'm successful at that, although I didn't really have much in this chapter as far as I can recall.  About the owl, the only confident Severus has at the moment is his very cool snake doorknocker.  I thank you a lot for the suggestion, but I don't really feel comfortable using another author's creation (fanfiction anyway, I know I'm using J.K. Rowling's stuff), especially without their permission.  Rowling has given her reader permission to write fanfiction, actually. I'm very glad that you voiced your comments, though:D**

**Loony Lupin: Oh yes, lots of Severus angst in this fic.  And there may or may not be more interfering (noty evil, though) Ron, and I think Harry is going to keep on trying to figure himself and the world out.  Thanks for your review!**


	10. Chapter Ten

**_Disclaimer: Well if you think that I created these characters, then perhaps you can tell me just how the tooth fairy delivers her quarters…they're all JKR's, of course._**

****

**Okay, I personally think that I am getting this one out in very good time, and I do believe that its even a teeny bit longer than usual.  This chapter just came flowing through, so I wrote.  Never take the muses for granted, I've learned.  Again, if you want on my mailing listing, either tell me in review or email me at amariran@yahoo.com  As always, I love those who review (replies are at the bottom).  Even if all you have to say is: 'I'm here and reading, just to let you know.'  Have fun!**

_And yet his fiercely searching eyes made out another pair, wide eyed and staring.  Hermione Granger, two balconies away._

He stood still, shocked, for less than a split second.  He was, after all, a spy, and a successful one at that.  After that momentary astonishment, he performed an abstruse charm that allowed him to see- and hear-her more clearly.  Amazingly, she had just performed the same charm.

            "Professor…I…"

            "Save it, Granger.  _Obli__-."__   He was cut off by a strange shield rising up around the girl, bluish silver and radiating power.  He had no doubt that it would repel the memory charm he had been about to use, unless he used a great deal of power.  He wasn't willing to chance the destruction of her brain, not after spending hours working to save it last week.  He met her defiant, cold eyes with an equally matched expression.  Slowly, deliberately, he tucked his wand into his robes, never breaking his gaze with her.  As soon as his unarmed hands were back on the railing, in plain sight of the girl, her shield was dropped and her wand put away as well.  Enchanted robes, he thought distractedly.  They stared in silence for a moment, neither realizing how, well, ridiculous they looked.  Hermione had forgotten to include the warming spell in her shield, so she was now standing, shivering, in the cold November air.  A freezing wind sent her shaking.  She had always needed more heat than others.  Snape saw her shake and pursed his lips, pondering his course of action._

            "Fine.  You are going to walk out the door and meet me where the eleventh century armor usually is; it usually goes visiting in the early morning, and the place is hard to miss.  Then, we will come back to this room and…discuss this."  She nodded and left, both watching the other disappear into their respective rooms.  Two sets of doors clicked close in unison, echoing faintly into the nearly pitch black night.

            Hermione had accepted his terms.  They both knew that it would be ridiculous for either of them to attempt to find the other's room considering the vagaries of Hogwarts architecture.  Although they appeared only a few yards apart at the exterior of the castle, they might be a mile apart inside.  That was unlikely given that the suit of armor he had mentioned was very close to her room, and, she was assuming, his own, but they weren't about to take chances.  She took a longing glance around the quiet room before she stepped out into the cold hallway, wishing for just a few more moments of peace.

            He got there a few moment before she showed up by virtue of his longer legs, she supposed.  Their greetings were stiff and awkward.  A length of silence followed and was broken by Professor Snape regaining his normal exterior and gesturing her to follow him.

            "Sir?  We aren't heading the way I would assume the room I found you in to be."  

            "Be careful not to assume, Granger.  But in this case, you are correct.  We aren't."  There is no way in Hades I would think of letting you into my private sanctum, he elaborated to himself.  But that was not necessary to say to the girl.  He had decided quickly that taking her to the Headmaster would solve nothing.  He would deal with this situation alone.  But he could not be in a setting where he had always been able to be vulnerable, for he knew Miss Granger and her damnable curiosity and he knew that he would need all of his wits about him.  He became aware that she was no longer following his sweeping form.  

            "All right.  Then let's have this conversation here."  He turned in time to see her cast an advanced silencing charm over the empty corridor.  Anyone passing by or even trying to hear their conversation would hear nothing but a discussion about…

            "The latest Quidditch match, Professor.  Is what I have charmed it to emit.  Anyways, you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am about to run back to the dormitory and shoot my mouth off to everyone.  I'm not.  And I'm not going to ask you what you were doing.  I'm not going to ask you why, and I'm not going to…ask you anything.  I am going to ask that you check to see whether I am outside before you…relax out there yourself, and that you allow me to coexist in my room as peacefully as I will allow you to in your own.  I'm not going to change my habits, Professor, and I don't expect you to change yours.  Have a...better night, sir."  She couldn't bring herself to say 'good', knowing full well how ridiculous it would seem in the face of the angst she had heard bursting from his lips earlier.  She was, of course, dying to know the answers to all of the questions she had told him she would not ask, but she was not a little girl any more.  She knew tact, and she knew that now, if ever, was the time to exercise it.  Instead, she forced a genial expression on her face, nodded at him, and turned to walk back to her rooms (her real ones) with as much dignity as possible.  She had taken several steps before she realized that she wasn't certain where she was.  She sighed and turned back to her Potions Master, who was now leaning on the walls of the hallway rubbing his face tiredly with his pale, slender hands.  

            "Professor Snape?"  
            "What IS it, Granger?" she had never heard her teacher, so skillful at producing the most biting reprimand in barely more than a whisper, snap with such frustration, and she was almost taken aback.  But she was not about to turn into a stuttering child.

            "Where the hell am I?"

            "Your language is most unnecessary, girl.  Go straight down this hallway, turn right at into the first branch you see and continue walking straight until you hit the suit of armor where we met.  I trust that you can find your way to your rooms from there."  It was not a question.  Hermione did not give an answer.  She turned and walked back to the Head Girl's rooms.  The girl didn't notice her professor sigh quietly, push himself off the wall, and plod wearily to his own, where insomnia would rule what little was left of the night.

            Hermione awoke the next morning with gritty eyes and a pounding headache brought on by terrible nightmares that had plagued what little sleep she had managed to seize after her run-in with Snape.  Damn him for ruining her peaceful reflection.  Greasy haired, big-nosed, Slytherin…her invectives continued until she reached the blissfully warm shower and stepped in.  Within moments, she was refreshed and ready to face the day.  Her excitement quickly faded as she recalled that it would be quite difficult to accomplish what she had wanted to today.  Her original plan had been to go to Snape and beg that he allow some time today for them to work on their project.  There was still a lot of research to be done, but it went much faster together, and with two brains working, they were also able to begin thinking of plans.  But now, she felt too uncomfortable to face him after what had happened.  The again, she was a Gryffindor, wasn't she?  Her house was known for its courage (foolhardy stupidity, she sometimes had to admit) and she wasn't about to back way from this challenge.  She and the Potions Master were going to make this potion, and they needed all the time in the world.  She took a deep breath, smoothed down her hair, and screamed when she heard Snape's voice issuing from her fireplace.    

            Needless to say, Severus Snape was as unamused upon hearing her scream a second time as he had been at her first.  At least he wasn't close enough to do any physical damage this time.  But if looks could kill, Hermione would be six feet under…and then some. 

            "Merlin's Balls, sir!  You should have called with your voice before you put your head into the fireplace of a female student's room…"

            "I did, Granger.  Don't blame me that you're deaf.  I will be in the Potions Laboratory in five minutes to pick you up and show you to where we will be conducting our research and experimentation.  If you aren't there, I will consider this entire venture ended."  With that abrupt, and rather snarky last remark, the head was gone from the flames.  Teachers and the Head Girl and Boy, as well as the common room, always had a fireplace lit so that people could get in quick contact with each other, although few connections allowed someone to physically change locations.  They were charmed to give off heat or cold depending upon one's wishes.  Hermione cast a withering glare at the fireplace before gathering her materials and stepping out of her rooms, making sure that all of her personal wards were set on the doors before she took the shortest route to the Potions Classroom.  She arrived at the same time as he, entering in the student's door as he burst through the one she knew led into his public office.  He awarded her with a cursory glance before he beckoned her to follow him. It was extremely annoying to be forced to trot after him like a little lapdog, yapping at his heels.  Damn the arrogant bastard!  Hermione had pushed all thoughts about last night far into the deepest recesses of her mind, perhaps for later contemplation, and was now entirely focused on the man who tried to make Potions class for his Gryffindor students as close to hell as he could get.  She gnashed her teeth as she nearly lost sight of which way he turned when he disappeared down a hidden hall.  It did not help her mood to see the exasperation on his face when he was forced to retrace his steps and rescue her from confusion.  By the time he stepped into a room, whispering the password so quietely she couldn't hear, she was absolutely furious and almost ready to show it.

            "Here.  The password is '_It is a far, far better rest that I go to'.  A bit long, but few students here would recognize it."  He held her eyes for a moment, as if in challenge of identification of the man who penned the line.  She accepted it easily._

            "Charles Dickens, of mixed heritage, his mother being a witch, his father, a muggle, celebrated for his works in both the muggle and wizarding worlds.  I must say that I prefer the magickal version of 'A Tale of Two Cities', having as it does the undertones of the magickal community during that fearful time in revolutionary France.  I've read both texts of course, although I rather doubt-."  Her skeptical and slightly superior glance was broken by his biting tone.

            "I do believe that I have told you, Granger, **not** to assume.  You never know what might happen as a result.  As it is, I am familiar with both sets of his work, although I find him to be a tedious read.  'A Tale of Two Cities' is by far the best of his works that I have read."  He was rather surprised when the girl's eyes lit up with excitement.

            "Oh, do you think so, too?  Nearly everyone else considers him to be an author with few to parallel his worth, but I didn't enjoy any of his works save the one that the password is from."  She stopped herself from surmising aloud that she would have supposed this to be the one he liked the most.  He arched an eyebrow at her.

            "Better, girl, although you would do well not to let even the whisper of the assumption across your face.  To any opponent worthy of deception, such an act would be as fatal as uttering it aloud.  But there…may be hope for you yet."  Hermione stood staring at him for a moment, but recollected herself much faster than he might have thought.

            "All right, Professor, but 'how to be a Slytherin' lessons aside, of which I doubt I will have need, I believe the last time that we met we were discussing the various reasons flight apparatus is used in immortality potion."

            "Ah, yes.  I have given no little thought to the situation.  Perhaps they are used metaphorically, to give the drinker the wings with which to escape death."

            "But there are no properties in the ingredients that would truly allow them to do this, nothing that would react in such a way as to-."  Professor Snape cut her off sharply again.

            "Think like a wizard, girl, not a muggle chemist.  Magick depends on intention, and on thought; not only on what happens if you put certain chemicals and atoms together.  I have done a great deal of research on muggle methods, and although there is nothing to be shameful in their work, we can do more.  The flying apparatus gives the intention of fleeing death, therefore they do so."  Hermione nodded, cursing herself for acting so muggle in front of her stern, pureblood professor.  He must have seen the slight tightening of her skin, for he spoke in softer terms.  "I understand that thinking like this is more difficult for those children not born to wizarding customs and processes of thought, but you can and you will do it.  You are a witch, Granger, and you will act like one when you are in here with me.  Else, when you go out into the rest of the world, all the books in the world aren't going to help you if you are still a foreigner despite your years of training."  Hermione nodded again, more determinedly this time.

            "So if we found the correct counter to the flight property-."

            "We could begin to destroy the other properties of the potion.  But every little bit will take a lot of work and a lot of research, for I won't have haphazard guessing in this lab."

            "Understood, sir.  We still have the rest of these books to go through before we have even a basic listing, so…"  Snape acquiesced with her silent suggestion and they both sat on adjacent and equally hard stools, bending over dusty books set on high Potions tables.  

            Hermione hissed in genuine pain as she discovered that the hours of sitting in one position, and such an uncomfortable one as hers had been, had frozen her muscles into anguished knots that refused to relent.  She couldn't even reach her wand, set beside the book she had just closed.  A careful sideways glance at Snape showed him immersed in a text.  But as she gave another quiet groan of pain as she attempted to move again, it was apparent that he was not completely oblivious to the rest of the room as she had thought.  He had remembered to save his back this trouble and had shifted about the room as they worked. 

            Snape winced in sympathy when he heard Miss Granger groan.  A lifelong bookworm himself, he knew well the pain of sitting hunched over, reading, for hours.  He had done so himself at her age.  It was only now, after many years of experience, that he remembered not to stay in a single position.  In fact, he still forgot sometimes.  Unfortunately, he had neglected to remind Miss Granger.  In defense of himself, he really wasn't used to working with another person.  Although he was finding the experience…not completely unpleasant.  He gracefully stepped a few feet to his left so that he was directly behind her.  Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he reached out to massage her stiff shoulders, neck, and back.  His slender white fingers danced intricately against the dark crimson color of the robes she was wearing.  Intent on his work, he barely noticed the small sigh of pleasure she emitted as he released the tension gathered in her muscles.  It was only when she arched back into his hands happily that he realized what he was doing, and dropped his hands from her body as though he had been burned.  She rolled her shoulders sinuously, releasing any remaining tension, then turned around to face him with a face full of gratitude.

            "Thank you, Professor," she said simply, as though nothing unusual had occurred.  His mind stilled for a moment, then regained its normal speed.

            "Never mind, Granger, I've done that to myself many times and always wished someone was there who could help.  Now, it is…**shit."  Hermione's eyes widened at his expletive until she too hastily cast a time charm and saw just how long they had been down here.  Although Snape had conjured drinks two or three times, and a tray of snacks, the snacks had gone fairly untouched.  Both had been much too absorbed in their work to bother with such crude earthly matters.  It was about nine in the evening.  Neither had eaten all day.  Neither was a stranger to such an occurrence, but both still felt the result.**

            "I concur, Professor.  Would you like to join me in the kitchens for a meal?"  Severus thought about declining the gracious invitation, but not only was he starving, he had found that he enjoyed her company.  Not that he would admit that to anyone other than himself.  He knew well that she was only doing this with him because she felt it was the right thing to do to help with the war and would give her accolades for her future career. 

"All right.  I'm sure they will be able to rustle up something for two weary researchers."      As they   walked through the castle, Severus couldn't help but ask the mischievous question  which plagued his mind.  "Have you finally given up on SPEW-ing your thoughts of House Elf Liberation to the elves of Hogwarts?"  Hermione glared up at him, though he could tell that there was no malice in the look. 

            "That was _most unfunny, sir.  I have come to the conclusion that the House Elves at Hogwarts are really quite happy in their current situation."_

            "You came to the conclusion that it was a thankless and futile task to attempt to free a populace that resented your attempts."  They had reached the entrance to the kitchens                   

            Hermione turned around right before disappearing into the realm of the House Elves.  He thought he was in for it and steeled himself for a tirade like that which she had given last Sunday.  She flashed him a soft, brilliant smile.

            "Very true."  And she was gone.  He took a moment to compose himself, and then followed swiftly after.  Perhaps in more than just the physical sense. 

**As always, my intense thanks to those who took the time to give me some comments.****  The muses were very demanding about getting this chapter out tonight in gratitude.  **

****Stellar Snape: Hmm, the weird thing is, I don't see Harry being so total an asshole.  Well, he is being one, but its basically because he realizes just how screwed up his life is.  He is…I actually got the age wrong when I was beginning this; Harry has his seventeenth birthday right before school.  I'll change it later, if it becomes important.  Anyways, he is only seventeen and he sees this man who has killed his parents and friends and continues to wreak havoc on the world that has been so good to him, and he sits inside a fancy castle while other people are out there dying.  It makes him bitter and hard, and he thinks that he is turning dark.  Not sure whether he really is.  The muses may deign to tell me sometime.  And so he takes it out on the people he loves.  He may get better, he may not.  *shrug*.  Thank you so much for the comment about the Death Eater gathering being well-written, I wanted it to be gory and primitive but I also am not so good at writing stuff like that.  And yes, Narcissa is definitely  fawning, vicious, but harmless because of her general incompetence; Snape has no time for her or the rest of the Death Eaters.  Unless he is trying to figure out how to kill them, that is.**

****WindexWarriors:  Oh my goodness! Um…here's some crack?  Er, story, I meant story, of course.  *grin*  My chapters are rarely out this quickly, but my muses were happy.  Thanks for the review.**

****FaerieFingers/Thimbles/Alice:  I hope you review again!  It especially makes me and the muses happy when someone cares about the story enough to review twice.  Don't worry, rambling is good and I am very glad that you like this.  Constructive criticism is lovely, but just hearing that someone is reading is okay, too.  Please let me know if you got my notification email.**

****Rebecca: Don't worry about useful comments; its also important to me to just know that there are people reading this and caring to take a few moments to tell me what they like/hate/don't understand about it.  Thank you.**

****Eternal Queen: No stopping in near future:D**

****Allegra: Oh, I hope that I didn't lose you since your prediction didn't come true.  That was definitely a possibility there for a while, but the muses made the final decision.  Don't worry, though; they'll have plenty more fights and lots more tension if I have anything to say about it.  Which, unfortunately, I don't.  But still.  Oh, I'm so glad that I am not the only one who feels this way, although I've learned to just carefully avoid those that seem as they are going to annoy me.  That was such an incredibly *nice* thing to say about me and my story that my muses did some happy little flips in the air.  Please tell me if you got my notification email.  Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

****Lollylips3: Thanks very much, and here we go with the continuation**

****Xanthos: Yes, Snape has a hard time of life, as does anyone living in war time.  Glad you approve;  I don't know that it is going to figure largely into the story, but the muses said they wanted it to be there, so in went the photography hobby.  Did this chapter meet with your approval?**

****Nightflower: I'm glad, and thank you.**

****Jenthewriter: Thanks for the well-constructed comments; I've done that with stories as well, but I am hoping that you stick with me as we progress through this one****J**

****Anya: Glad that you think so; characterization is something that I am trying to work on:D**

****Becka: Heehee.  Although I don't take pleasure in being cruel, there is something to be said for cliffhangers.  Not one in this chapter, though.  Although it may seem like there was a big jump in their relationship in this chapter, it wasn't really; its still going to take some time to get there, and I'm glad that you like that.  I know only too well those other types of fics, and though some of them can be really good, they aren't my style.**

****Go-seaward:  Glad that you decided to review!  I'm trying to work on my characterizations, so that is a lovely comment.  Thanks!**

****Sarah: Yes, there will be build-up, and build-up and then…well, you get the idea.  But I will get to the climax and the relationship sometime.  Although I've no idea whether they are the same.  From the bits my muses have let me know, I don't think they are.  Glad you like it.**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**_Disclaimer: Okay, lets go over it.  Ask most people on the street who wrote Harry Potter, and the one thing I can guarantee you is that they won't give you my name.  You know why?  Cause I didn't write it.  However, I have read interviews where JKR has said how flattered she is by fanfiction written about her characters.  So nyah._**

****

**Um…*author looks around nervously*  Okay, so no one is still reading this.  All right, I don't blame you, this has taken me a really disgustingly long time to get out.  I'm sorry, but real life has been really busy lately, and the muses decided to absent themselves from me completely in what little free time I did have.  I'm trying to figure out where, precisely, this is going, and having a bit of a hard time doing that.  So, if by some miracle, people do read this, I will try really hard not to take so long next chapter.  If you want to be notified when the next chapter is, please tell me in a review, or email me at amariran@yahoo.com .  Reviews are like this delicious box of truffles next to me, only for the muses, and the muses tell me what to write, so you can draw your own conclusions if you want the next chapter to come fast.  Even just telling me you are there and reading is good, although I love criticism as well.  And, in regards to a discussion on WIKTT where reviewers wished authors would state whether they could take criticism: I can, promise.  So, go read****J******

            _He took a moment to compose himself, and then followed swiftly after.  Perhaps in more than just the physical sense._

            As Hermione waited for Professor Snape to follow her, her mind wandered away from the realities of the kitchen, cheerfully lit even at night, with a small group of House Elves chatting contentedly by the warm fire in the corner.  It wandered to her enigmatic companion of the day.  She glanced around at the cheery room and thought how out of place he would look there.  Then, as he came through the doors and stood silently with her, watching, as she did, the scene before them, she thought that perhaps he didn't look quite so odd as she would have thought.  

             The truth was, she didn't want to place him in little tiny labeled boxes any more, the way she did every one else.  There were only a few people she was unable to do this with, but she had discovered in the past few weeks that he was one of the most complex figures she had ever met.  Dumbledore was on her list, of course; bizarre and crazy and sweet and kind and an uncompromising rock of strength that was the foundation of Hogwarts much more than any piece of ground could be.  Harry, too, refused to be labeled as 'friend', or 'hero'…or even 'bastard ex-boyfriend'.  Every time she looked at him he had changed.  And now there was Severus Snape, who was arrogant and Slytherin and an absolute arse…who had so much pain in his soul and refused to let it out anywhere where he might be found.  They were not squares, and she could not contain them even in her methodical mind.  It made them that much more intriguing to her; that much more worthy of exploration.  Love Ron dearly she did, but there was no doubt that with Ron, what you saw, once you got to know him, was what you got.  Loyal and Gryffindor, and strong and sweet, and a little bit insecure; these were absolute and uncontradictory decriptors of her best friend.  Her reverie was broken by a House Elf dashing up to them from where it had been sitting by the fire in a corner with some of its compatriots.

             "Would Hermo-ninny or Professor Snape wish something from us?"  The House Elf didn't look scared to death of the stern Professor, and given the blackness of the scowl directed at him, Hermione was rather surprised.  Instead, the creature shook its head in amusement at the man, who stopped scowling to smile gently and reply.

             "Ah, yes, Toddy.  We would appreciate a late dinner, if you will.  I know you won't mind fixing up a table for us."

             "Of course not, Professor, Sir.  Toddy will be doing that right now." And with a flick of his hand, a dimly lit doorway appeared across the entrance to the kitchens.  Hermione looked, bemused, at Snape, who merely beckoned her to follow the small, bizarrely-clothed figure eagerly bobbing its way into the unknown room.  Together they walked into the semi-darkness, slowly so that their eyes could adjust to it naturally.  At the end of the short corridor was a small, cozy room.  In the center was a dark wooden table, with a pretty pure white marble fireplace in front of it.  The room was decorated in dark maroon and cream, comforting and grand at the same time.  Hermione again looked at Snape, unconsciously assuming that he knew what this was all about.  

             "Given that the professors of this school must spend the entirety of their lives here for the better part of the year, we are given private dining areas in addition to private rooms in case we wish to entertain guests or some such.  They are rarely used, but occasionally, as now, do come in handy."  He wasn't sure why he was telling her so much, only that it seemed perfectly natural.  

             "I see.  So, will we be having the remains of dinner?"  She cocked her head at his snort.

             "Of course not, Granger.  Try to actually use that brain of yours.  We can order what we like."  He turned to the still-waiting House Elf.  "Toddy, linguine alfredo, red wine, and a small antipasto.  Thank you."  Toddy nodded and turned to Miss. Granger.

             "Um, what Professor Snape is having, I guess.  Except, uh, pumpkin juice, please."  Snape looked at her a moment, relieved that she hadn't tried to test the boundaries as most other students would have.  Then he thought about the way pumpkin juice would taste with the delicious cuisine they were about to eat and winced.  

             "Make that butterbeer, Toddy, please; I know the kitchen stocks some."  Another nod, and then the House Elf walked quickly out of sight, the doorway closing to give them the illusion of total privacy.  Not such an illusion, actually.  Only the teachers and Dumbledore could get in here; it was even spelled against the ghosts and poltergeists of the castle.  He barely acknowledged the grateful look sent to him by Hermione, who too had been imaging the taste of butterbeer and alfredo.  

             "I come down to the kitchens often when I have been caught up in work all day and am in need of food, but I usually find it easier to have them put it on a tray and eat in my rooms."

             "As do I, which is most probably why we've never run into each other before.  Although one must wonder how, if you always get so little sleep, you manage to stay awake in class and participate with such…alacrity as you usually do."  Hermione grinned at his tactful choice of words, but she knew that she was much better at tempering her enthusiasm in the classroom these past few years than her first few at Hogwarts.

             "One could wonder the same of you, sir.  Sleep has never been a large necessity of mine."  Though her words were true, her body belied her statement as she gave a large yawn.

             "Still, I think I will escort you to your rooms as soon as we have eaten, and it would not be wise to linger over the meal.  After all, it would not do for our Head Girl to be seen sleeping in class tomorrow."

             By this time, they had moved to the table, Snape unconsciously pulling out Hermione's chair in a time honored gesture of gallantry.  To her credit, Hermione masked her surprise well.  Perhaps she would make a Slytherin yet.  Immediately, they were more at ease, as tends to happen, when sitting down.  Snape may tower well over students, and never seemed to lack in grace or poise, but Hermione did not enjoy shifting from foot to foot.  Conversation flowed freely as they waited for the food to be brought, beginning with a discussion about Dickens, and moving on to cover other authors of that time.  Hermione found Severus even more well-versed in muggle literature than she could have imagined…if such a thing had not been preposterous to begin with.  A comparison of various authors and facets of Victorian culture had proved fascinating, especially as Hermione had never had the fortune to get a wizard's perspective on such topics.  Dinner came and went, marked only by occasional breaks in the conversation to savor a particularly good bite.  Nevertheless, an hour later Hermione's yawns were coming every other sentence, refusing to be ignored.  Snape finished the last bite of his tiramisu and looked at Hermione's plate.  There was a bite left, although her portion had been smaller than his own to begin with.  Well, never mind that, they both needed to be up early tomorrow, and scintillating as he was finding…the conversation (merely that, never the person), he was forced to admit that they should both be going.  He waited until she had finished her small rant about the casual thoughtlessness and cruelty that pervaded many of the novels that they were discussing.

             "Granger, I do believe that it is time for bed.  I can't stand listening to sentences when they are so peppered with yawns."  He ignored the mock glare she sent his way, wondering when they had become comfortable enough with each other to start teasing.  Still, she nodded, paused and glanced at the last of the delicious dessert, and then decided against it. Standing up and stretching, she walked over to the place where the door had been.  He joined her quickly, muttering a password that she didn't try to hear, and then they walked out to the kitchens, out of the kitchens and through the castle in a calm silence.  No words were spoken until they reached the painting which hid the entrance to the Head Girl's room; a pleasant landscape.  

             "Can we continue working on the project tomorrow, sir?  I have some free time after dinner…"  Her voice trailed off as he shook his head.

             "No, you have schoolwork that must be maintained.  Tuesday and Thursday after dinner, in the room we worked in today, of course.  The weekends will be decided on by a week-by week basis." Namely because Voldemort was showing something of a fondness for weekend meetings.  Often the type where he came back with bloodstains on his clothes and just that much less of his soul.  

             "All right, sir."  There was something slightly clipped about her voice; was she upset?  Well, he couldn't spend the rest of the night worried about a miffed Gryffindor.  It would ruin what he would admit had been a productive and pleasant evening.

             "Good night, Miss Granger."

             "Good night, Professor Snape."  She whispered the password to the painting, and Snape saw the glow of heavy wards before they allowed her to enter.  The painting swung open, and he turned and walked away from her as she entered her rooms.  

             A certain Headmaster glanced at his watch, although it was no time device such as a muggle would understand.  Would they blame the past hour and a half on 'the subject material' as well?  Then he sighed a little as he thought about the two people in question.  Knowing them…yes.

             Hermione was a little miffed, actually.  She knew it was silly, but he had treated her rather well tonight, aside from his acerbic comments, and his dictation of their schedule without consultation of her own convenience had immediately displaced her notion of their being able to have a companionable working relationship.  He had probably just been humoring her, making sure that she didn't let his little secret slip.  He needn't have worried, it wasn't as though anyone would believe her even if she had wanted to divulge the information.  The stoic Potions Master showing emotion of _any sort?  Ridiculous!  Well, she could handle the reversion to type she was sure to meet at Tuesday's meeting, and she had harboured no illusions at all regarding Monday's lesson.  He would always be a bastard in the classroom, but she had to admit that it got him results. But such thought is difficult when one is struggling to stay awake.  And so, though the hour was not so late, Hermione yawned one last time before she changed into pajamas and fell into her comfortable bed._

            Severus closed the book with a snap, as abruptly as all things tended to end in his life.  But tonight was not for such maudlin thoughts as he often engaged in.  Tonight, he had put his life on hold for just a few hours, read a favorite old book, reclined with a good drink in his hand, and now he was going to bed.  He cleaned up his glass, banked the fire glowing in the ornate fireplace in front of his single chair, and untied the sash of his long black cotton dressing gown as he walked to the doorway which led to his bed.  Although he was usually a fastidious person, he was pleasantly numbed to the realities of the world by a fairly nice evening with a fairly nice person, and the brandy and book.  The mass of fine black material slithered to a heap beside the high four-poster bed that took up most of the space in his otherwise fairly sparse bedroom.  He had not changed any of his living quarters since he became a teacher here, so many years ago.  What was the point?  Why should not he live in something as false as the rest of his life? Snape groaned from beneath the heavy black sheets he pulled around his boxer-clad self.  He had sworn to be pleasant tonight, and to just have himself a good sleep.  And damn it all, that's what he intended to happen.  He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and unconsciously began to picture Miss Granger over dinner tonight, smiling shyly at him in the golden light.  And…he actually drifted off into a peaceful sleep that lasted until morning.

            Morning broke, and Hermione was greeted with the peacefulness of a still dark room.  She had been awoken by her own internal alarm clock, which rarely failed.  It was about five forty five in the morning according to her time charm , so she supposed that even if she had a room that overlooked the outside of Hogwarts, she would not awake to sunlight.  All of which had the unfortunate side effect of reminding her about Harry.  Harry the Prat.  Harry the Bastard.  Harry the Scared Little Boy Who Wasn't Allowed to Fight.  There were few times in which she truly questioned the judgment of so great a wizard as Albus Dumbledore, but this was an area in which she feared he was blind.  She was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix, the war time Dark resistance organization founded with the rise of the first Dark Lord, so many eons ago, which she, Harry, and Ron had discovered in their fifth year- but neither were any of the other students, as far as she could tell.  Harry, in the saddeningly few moments of confidence he had shared with her as his girlfriend, had told her of the visions which Voldemort sent him, sometimes purposefully, every night when he tried to go to sleep.  Simply the description of such actions as that Dark bastard had enjoyed had sent her into nightmares and fueled her wish to help in the war effort, so she could only imagine what Harry felt.  But she was also all too aware of the Boy Who Lived's shortcomings.  He was too proud to admit to his best friends that he might need some help, too in awe of the Headmaster to stand up and ask him for a place in the fight against Voldemort…and not quite strong enough to resist the evil that slowly seeped into his soul.  Though she hadn't truly loved him in more than a platonic way, his cheating and words and cruelty were hardly mitigated by that fact.  Why, she bet Snape would have been able to…  Her thoughts stuttered to a stop, since they had obviously gotten so lost she didn't even think a road map was going to help her out.  How the hell had she gotten to the point where she was comparing people's actions to those of her Greasy Git Potion Master's?  And why did it feel so _right to do it?  But, search as she might, Hermione's mind refused to give an answer other than a splitting head ache as punishment for her trying to force it's hand.  She chuckled as she walked into the bathroom, imaging her brain playing poker against her, personified like some of those funny American cartoons she had watched as a child._

            Freshly showered and dressed, with homework double checked, and teeth as clean as the daughter of two obsessive dentists could make them, Hermione started out into the halls of Hogwarts to breakfast.  And if she happened to accidentally swing by Headmaster Dumledore's office on her way…well, then.  No one seeing the slight Gryffindor walking with books swinging in her weightless satchel would have guessed that rather than thinking about a challenging homework assignment, her mind was furiously working on a way to involve students in a more active role against Voldemort.  _There were several obvious reasons this will be an advantage to the Cause.  Firstly, I doubt Voldemort would expect it.  Dumbledore is well known for the lengths to which he is willing to go to keep his precious students from the harsher realities of life.  Such a **thing as Voldemort would see this as a weakness.  Secondly, we would give an old problem a new perspective.  I know damned well that it was only in the past few decades that students were not admitted entrance into the Order.  In past times, it had been normal for young men and women possessing the aptitude for it to be helping defend their world.  Thirdly…**_

            "So you see, Headmaster, that it would only be beneficial to our side.  You wouldn't actually be sending any of us directly into the fight, at least not until we've graduated, but we would feel as though we were doing something- and we'd be right.  This is so important to us, sir, you _have to see!"  Hermione Granger was not very fond of begging, but she was perfectly willing to do whatever she had to to ensure the cooperation of the unusually solemn old wizard who sat in front of her.  His countenance was grave, with nary a twinkle in sight.  Still, he had not rejected her proposition out of hand.  Yet._

            "Miss Granger, your plans are well-thought out, and I would have expected no less from you.  But, child, as the Headmaster of this school, standing in place of these children's parents, I can NOT allow them even the _thought_ of contact with so great an evil as Voldemort is."  His face was sterner than Hermione had ever seen it, and she knew it was no use to argue or plead.  She tightened her lips, still unconvinced that this inaction really was all for the best, and nodded as courteously as she could to the man before standing up and walking out the door of the Headmaster's office.  She heard someone coming up the escalator like contraption that led to the office, and pushed herself to the right side of the narrow passage, in vain hope that whoever it was wouldn't squash her.  She could only hope that it wasn't Hagrid.  Professor Snape spared nothing but a sharp look at her as he passed her on his way up.  He managed to somehow gracefully avoid any contact with her save for the brushing of the edge of his robes against her leg as he swept by.  Hermione stayed still for a moment, then continued to move on.  She really did want breakfast, but she didn't feel like eating with Harry and Ron and thinking 'if she had only been a little more persuasive, a little more prepared…'  Not that she wasn't going to anyways, but Hermione enjoyed lying to herself almost as much as Severus did, though she didn't know it.

**I love people who take the time to tell me how I'm doing and what they think of my story!  Thanks so much: **

**DragonRose****: Actually, I have been lucky and haven't gotten any flames, I was just really worried that I was obliviously writing trash.  Still am, sort of.  But thank you for the kind words.  Hermione's drinking actually was out of character for her and she realizes that; she has only gone out drinking twice, once because she was worried that she had lost Harry, and once the night after because he broke up with her.  She only drinks under times of extreme stress, and I doubt she will ever get drunk again after that horrible experience.  They will get together, but I can't tell you when or how, nor can I tell you whether Hermione will wander upon Snape as a Death Eater.  She already knows that he is one, as a spy for the light, if you recall the scene in the Great Hall where Dumbledore tells her that Snape can't work with her, she gets a little annoyed because she knows damn well where he is.  Thanks!**

**V-volatile: Will never understand where your nom de plume came from, hon.  And if you ever tell me that I 'rawk' again, I will beat you:D  I hadn't thought you had read up to the last chapter either, which is why I told you to read it.  Threatening my family, tsk, tsk. Now, go write a story so that I can read it;)**

**Fairythimbles****: Good, hopefully this next one will get to you as well.  I'm glad you liked the 'verbal sparring', they will probably continue on like that for the rest of the fic, no matter how their relationship goes.  Well, unless it gets worse.  Hm.  I am actually not very knowledgeable about witchcraft, it just seemed right to me, so I'm very happy that you concur.**

**HunnySnowBunny****: Wow, I hope no one was around to hear you say no:D Because I;ve done that a time or two as well.  Glad that you appreciate the way I am trying to make both characters different than in the HP books, because they are older and there is a war going on, I am trying very hard not to make them out of character however.  **

**Caroline: I don't know, I don't think you're still reading this since it has been so long since I last updated, and I'm really sorry about that, real life just got in the way.  But I'm glad that you like it.**

**Jenthwriter****: I'm very happy about that, and desperately hope that the long wait has not made you decide not to follow this.  Hope you were able to read when more awake, but I do that too, lots.**

**Becka****: No, the muses love chocolate all the more when it is offered in the review, and they wanted me to make sure you were properly thanked.  Woohoo, glad that I manage to keep your interest even without cliffhangers, which I sometimes can't even help.  Hope you are still reading and still liking it.**

**Madeleine Jete: Yes, jobs rather do take precedence over fanfiction, sadly.  Thanks incredibly much for taking the time to review it, anyways.  I, too, was very jealous of Hermione, especially after sitting leaned over my keyboard for a while.  And to have the masseuse be Snape, mmm.  Hope you find this chapter well-written, too.**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**_Disclaimer: Get real.  If it were mine, I wouldn't be broke.  Oops, I need to rectify that posthaste…_**

**Hm****, I took some liberties in including all creatures not pureblooded on Voldemort's list of things lower than me…  Sorry.  Oh, I also am a stupid American without enough time to research the British Parliamentary system…Well, that and I am too lazy to do it.  So, right, I absolutely screwed with it, and can only apologize for it.  If someone has a big problem and can tell me how to correct (who should properly succeed the Minister of Magick), then I'll make the change in title, otherwise it will stay as is. Also, the tense in my flashbacks (denoted in italics) gets a little weird, and I can't quite figure how to fix it.  Hm, you know, the thing that takes the longest time, if my muses are cooperating, is the proofreading and review reply.  Honestly, going over my work slowly so that things read right and are grammatically sound takes forever, and sometimes gets tedious, so I am sorry in that I am perhaps not as assiduous in getting the boring stuff done so that I can post.  However, I was finished writing almost a week ago.  I have to leave in an hour, and I want to get ready now, so yeah.  Um, one note, I stole the concept of the Serpent's Den from someone, and if anyone knows who the original person was to use it, I would love to credit them.  There's a fair amount of swearing in this…should I change the rating?  I think there are some run-on ish sentences, and if someone has a big problem with them, I'll see about changing them, but I don't think they're too bad.  All right, again, if you want to be notified of the next chapter, tell me in a review or email me at amariran@yahoo.com and I really love reviews, as do the muses.  Hope you enjoy, sorry about the long author's note, but for anyone who doesn't write I just spent an hour doing review replies.  Wow.  **

As the Seasons Decay, Chapter Twelve

A few days later found Hermione and Severus again in their comfortable research room, furiously pouring over the still high pile of books. With the latest Death Eater attacks, the war was brought even closer to Hermione.  It had come as no surprise to Severus, as he had known it was only a matter of time before Arthur and Percy Weasley's family was targeted in Voldemort's cleansing of the Ministry.  The only surprise was that the entire family had managed to escape unscathed.  He recalled last night with the picture perfect clarity with which all his bad memories were preserved (his happier ones- relatively happier, that was- were, naturally, obscured with the thick disguising fog of the past).

            _"Servants, it is time, once again, to take back the Ministry.  Too long have we suffered fools given positions of trust and power in our world, thwarting our moves.  We seek to create a better- the BEST wizarding society that there has ever been in the farthest annals of history and beyond_.  They seek only to stop us from achieving our noble goal, unable to look away from their narrow-minded path and see the uses that power can bring them, the true way that magick should be used, and the natural order of the world which has been too long suppressed under that foolish guise of 'fairness and 'equality.'  But for all of that, it is quite simple.  We, my pureblooded followers, are meant to rule over all other peoples.  Muggles, of course, but also trolls, and goblins, and giants and every living race shall pay tribute to us, their natural Lords.  And our discreet operations" here Voldemort sneered; the man hated anything which bespoke of an inefficiency or incapability on his part "are not enough.  We must and we _will__ begin a systematic cleansing of the center of the British Wizarding world; the Ministry of Magick.  As I speak, we are honoured with the presence of our dear Minister of Magick, newly risen from his sadly obscure position as Vice-Minister.  We freely acknowledge that much of the good work that has been coming from the Ministry, regarding the foiling of that pathetic group headed by the Old Fool, has been of his doing, and welcome him with open arms into our little circle."  This was the man's first meeting, and it was only the _Inner Circle__ tonight.  Having the Minister of Magick in one's pocket was not something widely advertised, especially if one is an evil megalomaniac.  It tends to get the aforementioned person sacked swiftly.  Severus knew what was to come next.  The madman had chosen his targets.  He was not satisfied with controlling the Minister alone: Harvey Dringley, a small man in every sense of the word with an oily countenance and who had been in Voldemort's pocket even longer than the rather unlamented Fudge.  Vice-minsiter really was an overlooked job, something of an overglorified secretary, with a dozen times the work and no credit.  It made Dringley a prime candidate for Minister with allegiance to Voldemort.  Had there been someone with morals in the vice-minister position, Voldemort would have seen that they declined the position.   Now the self-styled Lord would gleefully hand out the assignments to his zealous minions with the mockingly stern admonition to 'have fun.'   It was just like all those years ago.  Only now, Severus's eyes did not shine with the same delusional fervor as his compatriots.  Oh, on the outside they did- he was too good of a spy to let his disgust show.  But inside his heart, another piece of his soul began to wither.  By the end of the night, when he went to scrub the invisible blood from his hands and set down his wand buzzing from Dark Magick….by the end of the night it would have died completely.  He was lucky, he supposed- for in his world luck was measured a bit differently than sane people might- that he had not had to go to the Weasley's house.  Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George- all his former students.  Hell raisers, yes, but brimming with a vitality of life and a happiness that he had never had- and could not wish extinguished.  Voldemort had underestimated his opponents' power once again, as was one of his greatest failings, for he believed no one was as good as those who served him.  He sent too few Death Eaters to the Weasleys, and Snape was grimly proud of the family that dispatched them to the Hell they belonged to.  Snape himself, being the favoured pet that he was, had been given his choice of victims.  He wanted so badly to pick one of the two people on the 'hit list' with no family, but forced himself to choose one with a moderately sized family instead.  He begged off the Weasleys by telling Lord Voldemort that he would be afraid of laughing every time he saw either of the younger Weasleys with tearstained faces, and there was no point in risking his trusted position within the Order for such a trifling matter as a Weasley life.  After all, why did it matter who killed them?  Voldemort had given a hearty laugh and waved off he and Pettigrew to 'take care' of Alfred Pettiwnkle, his wife, and his two small children.  Alfred was a damned nuisance, according to Malfoy's reports, always trying to ferret out Death Eaters within the ministry.  The man was also actually intelligent and hard working, and so was included in this first wave of killings.  Their Master had assured them that there would be many more in the future.  Because Pettigrew was only able to kill something that could barely dodge his weak Killing Curses, he insisted on killing the boys, whose room was unhappily close to the entrance of the house that Snape blew his way through as loudly as he could.  He was hoping to alert the adults so that they could run, but it was to no avail.  The woman had screamed and run to her already cooling children, right between he and Pettigrew, and Snape had mechanically cast the curse in front of Pettigrew's beady rat eyes.  And those eyes had looked on longingly as he quickly and emotionlessly murdered the husband who had followed frantically close on his wife's heels.  __

***

Hermione was staring at the book.  She was reading the words, and she was writing notes, and on some level she was even paying attention to what she was doing.  But on another, she was reliving breakfast that morning.  

            _Ron looked up with a smile as he saw the family owl winging its way to the Gryffindor table along with the rest of the school's mail.  Everywhere, students were tearing open their packages and letters and Daily Prophets.  Hermione herself was unfolding her Prophet, when she heard Ginny's shriek from a few seats down.  The girl had hovered eagerly over Ron's shoulder as he cheerfully, unsuspectingly, opened the letter, and could not control her anguish at the words inscribed within.  A glance at the headline of the newspaper in her hands confirmed Hermione's guess, although it was better (and oh, but what choices were given in war time; bad or worse) than she had dared hope.  None of the Weasleys were dead, and that was a blessing.  But it was a scary reminder of just how vulnerable the students and their families were, and Hermione had practically run down the dungeon stairs to begin this research after dinner.  Anything that would hasten this war to its end.  As the news floated through the Great Hall, she had searched for Harry before she could stop herself.  She found him on the opposite side of the table.  He was a little bit apart from everyone else somehow, though he sat in the middle of the long row of Gryffindors.  His hand, no longer that of a boy's, gripped his glass of juice so hard that even the sturdy cup could not withstand the force and it shattered, leaving a dark stain across the too pale flesh.  She was too far away to be able to tell whether the liquid that dripped from his hand and pooled onto the table was the juice or his blood.  The Gryffindor table was torn between wanting to administer to Harry or find out what exactly was going on.  Hermione did not even stop to think, but immediately launched herself around the table to the not-quite-man who had once been one of her best friends.  He sat there numbly, his eyes a burning green as they stared at his hands covered in his blood.  She quickly and efficiently cleaned and bandaged the thin cuts that crossed his hands, using some spells she had learned the summer after her fourth year, when she had realized some of the things she would need to know in a wizard's war.  She never once looked up at his face.  By the time she was done with that, leaving him still looking at nothing and thinking about everything with a pile of glass slivers sitting next to him, Ron and Ginny had broken the poignant familial tableau and had resumed communication with the rest of the table.  She pushed her way through the crowd to her friend, knowing that he needed someone who knew what his home was like.  Someone who could sit and would understand precisely how inviolate the Burrow had always seemed; a zany, quirky fortress.  She needed to be there, alongside Ella, who had come as fast as she could, as the last remnants of his childhood naïveté fell from him.  As the three hustled out of the buzzing Hall, Ron wrapped in the embraces of the two girls who flanked him, Hermione spared a quick glance to make sure that Ginny was all right, with her own friends there beside her- and a longer look at the High Table.  Snape had appeared at breakfast as usual.  Only someone looking as closely at him as Hermione was, even as she rushed away from him, would have noticed the increase of dark shadows and lines seemingly permanently etched onto his countenance.  _

Snape shifted in his chair, realizing that if he did not shift his thoughts to at least a marginally happier venue, a breakdown was eminent.  Usually he had at least a little bit of time to compose himself before shifting into his second role, but he had gone straight from Pettiwinkle's house to Lord Voldemort's feet, and had only time for a shower before heading to the Great Hall for breakfast.  He would have loved to skip it, just once, but he could ill afford to take such an unusual action.  At least he was not known for indulging in hearty morning meals.  He would no doubt have merely thrown anything but coffee straight back up, something he was loath to do even if he did know it would give his students great joy.  He felt the shadows begin to creep into his mind, carrying with them the faces of his victims.  _Happier thoughts_, he thought to himself, _anything_.  _Well, at least the Weasley family had been the only one with students who attended Hogwarts that was attacked- again thanks to some misinformation on his part which would hopefully be traced back to Ellison Englebert, a Death Eater who was loyal to the core.  Voldemort would follow the fake trail that Snape had left him, and find the fake traitor.  The double agent did this planting of evidence as often as he dared, but it was not much.  Still, every little bit counted when one Death Eater alive might mean two or three innocent people, muggle or otherwise, tortured or killed.  Snape had long since buried any compassion for those arrogant fools who still clung to outdated views and outdated would-be dictators._  He heard a small sigh and the rustle of a page from the seat on his right, where Hermione was settled, her short legs curled around the tall wooden lab stool.  He glanced over and saw at once that she was not doing her work, but simply rubbing a page with her fingers as her mind ran off on some other thought.  Though his mind had wandered as well, he was experienced enough to divide his mind and perform almost any task while he was thinking about something else.  And his temper snapped.

"Miss. Granger!  I have obviously mistaken your dedication to this project.  I had thought that you were willing to work through this information, regardless of how 'unnecessary' it may seem."  His voice dripped with venomous sarcasm, but the tone was not the silky chastisement of the classroom.  It was the passionate shout of someone at the end of the rope, worse even than her third year and what had become known as 'the Shrieking Shack Incident.'  "Your lack of thought in this project could mean the difference between success and failure, and since you have obviously failed to comprehend that, Granger, it means _lives_. It means that every second you are sitting here, but not engaged in this task, one person, ten people, for heaven's sake _twenty_ people may lose their lives because—of—_your_—inattention.  That may be a price that you are willing to take, but I am afraid that I refuse to jeopardize this project.  Your presence has become a distraction, and a very unwelcome one at that.  Leave."  By the end of his tirade, his voice had quieted from a shout, but had not lost a whit of its intensity.  The result was that the last word was said with such deadly force that Hermione turned whiter than she already was.  The only color on her face was in the two small pink blotches on her cheeks, but Snape never saw them because he turned away from the girl in a calculated and cold dismissal.  The Head Girl's hands balled up into fists at her side and clenched until the skin stretched achingly tight across her knuckles.  Sometime during his speech she had stood up, and she now found herself facing his black-clad back.  And then Hermione did something that she had never thought she would do to, or even in front of, a teacher.

"You bastard.  You fucking _bastard.  Screaming at me about dedication to the cause when I know damned well that my parents could be the very next victims thrust prematurely into Death's grip?  Screaming at me about not realizing the cost of inattention when my very own fucking best friend almost found himself an orphan because of that shit Voldemort?  Telling me that I am willing to take risks to other people for my own pleasure when I have risked my life, alongside Harry and Ron, every year since I came into this damned place?  What a joke, _professor_, what a joke.  And a distraction, you say?  Or can't you stand having someone around here who is actually focused on their task, instead of going off on stupid pity trips all the time?  Is that it sir?"  But Hermione had gone too far that time, and in a moment found herself closer to her Potions Professor than she had ever thought about in her wildest nightmares, the blank shield that usually protected his eyes from the rest of the world- and vice-versa- dropped for a moment.  She saw the swirling black maelstrom of hatred and self-loathing and disgust and cynicism and pride and she wanted to look away but she was hypnotized.  She forgot to breathe, so entranced was she, her ears wishing they could crawl away and hide from the shout he was sure to give in defense of himself._

"Yes, Miss. Granger.  That is completely, _exactly, the reason.  So if you will excuse me," he hissed softly, like the snake from the Serpent's Den that he was.  And with that, his strong hands had seized her robe-covered arms in a crushingly hard grip and bodily picked her up and thrust her out the door of their research room.  She stumbled hard when he set her down, and by the time she recovered, the door was closed.  She didn't bother trying to physically open the door, but it was just as failed a venture to try using the password that should have broken his wards.  He had changed it, and she would not be let in, perhaps ever again._

            Hermione stared blankly at the door, closed firmly, her mind unable to choose a course of action.  What she wanted to do was scream and fling hexes at the impenetrable piece of wood until her voice was hoarse and he came out and confronted her.  But she knew that would be foolhardy and futile.  Still, a confrontation was necessary.  He didn't realize that this was her only way of helping in the war.  Ron had Ella and Ginny to keep him from going crazy from being prevented from the war, but Harry had already succumbed to something like madness.  She herself had placed all of her energy and hopes on this project, safe in the knowledge that it really _was something helpful to the Cause.  But without it, she knew that she would be in eminent danger of turning into Harry; cold and distant and more than a little inhuman in her lack of power.  He had to let her help, he _had _to!  Hermione took a deep breath to compose herself, but it ended in a hitch as she strove vainly to keep herself from giving in to heart rending sobs.  It wasn't even just about this project, anymore.  The stress of the whole situation, from her parents' and friends' danger, to her own, to Snape's, to the fact that there was an evil madman running loose with a dedicated group of followers while she was stuck here, unable to do anything to save the world she knew she was born to be part of.  She slumped to the ground, feeling the coldness of the dungeons in the winter seep into her bones as it had never done when she worked down here in Severus's presence.  Her school robes were not that thin, but neither were they prepared to withstand Hogwart's Dungeons near the middle of November.  She attempted to wrap herself in the black folds.  Hot, salty tears still coursed silently down her face, cooling as the came into contact with the chilly air and ending up, cold and bitter as so many things were, in her mouth.  She scrubbed them away irately, then settled down to wait for what she suspected might be some time._

            Severus Snape glared at the door for a long time, his heart racing wildly and her frenzied accusations ringing in his ears.  And yet there had been no truth to her statements, in reality.  And he knew that she knew that, and had acted, as he had, from stress and the irrational anger borne from aforementioned stress.  But there was no denying that her presence had, indeed, become a distraction.  And since she apparently knew of his status as a double agent, it was best for all concerned that her contact with him be limited as possible.  Who knew what twisted things Voldemort might come up with if he found out that Severus was spending time with the girl outside of the classroom?  Severus performed a quick breathing exercise that had been necessary to learn in his line of business, where a lot of emotion got you and most likely a hell of a lot of other people killed.  He had himself under control in moments, and simply put the matter of his mind.  He returned to his seat and the book that he had been working on before the debacle, and carefully resumed his research.  And if he realized that he was studiously avoiding looking at the empty chair on his right, he indicated no such thing to himself.  The hours slipped away as he buried himself in work until he was physically unable to work any longer, having gone without sleep for about two whole days.  A time charm told him that it was around two in the morning.  He got up and did a bone cracking stretch before bookmarking the tome he had been reading before his eyes had become unable to focus properly.  He straightened the stack of books up, hardly realizing that he carefully bookmarked Miss. Granger's book and set her notes on top of it the way he had noticed she liked to do.  He opened the thick door- and despite the gloom of the dungeons when the torches had burnt down low, his sharp eyes immediately fell upon a softly sleeping Hermione Granger, seated directly across from the door.    

**Okay, well, I hope that it is getting somewhere, and that people are still reading.  Real Life was terrible this past week, namely my math, but since its all over, I am taking up the time that ought to be used to get ready for a banquet tonight, and doing this.  So, I appreciate my readers a lot:**

**Mavra****: I'm glad…yes, tortured souls are ever so much fun to write.  YUM!  The muses went into happy shocks thanks to your cookies.  Please let me know if you got the email reply so I know its working.  Thanks ever so  much for your specific comments about what you liked****J**

**Madeleine Jete: Gosh, it doesn't matter if your reviews *did* all sound the same (which they don't, by the way); I love hearing from you.  Glad you liked that thought to talk transition, I was worried it was a little weird. **

**Bridie****: Thanks very much**

**Fairy Thimbles: Sort of a combination of both, I suppose.  They have naturally conflicting personalities because they are so similar.  Yeah, that probably would have worked better, but she doesn't want to tell Dumbledore that Harry is a prat, and even if she did, there was no guarantee that that would sway the man at all.  He's rather firm on this subject.  Thanks for giving me the chance to clarify, I hope it helps and lends credibility to the story.**

**Anya****: Woohoo, thanks!**

**DragonRose****: Heehee: ask me questions and thou shalt receive answers.  Oh, well…I suppose that is a thought, but I have seen terrible stories with hundreds of reviews (scares me honestly).  Thanks for the confidence, though!!**

**HunnySnowBunny****: Well, I knew I was brilliant already, but….no honestly, thanks ever so for that compliment.  Oh, drooly teeny-bopper-esque or not, the we love Snape club (heehee) is active and large.  Glad you liked it, and hope you still do.**

**Xanthos****: I'm jealous as well!  SO glad that you think I have a balance, that's what I'm going for, after all!  Wow, 'flow seamlessly'…there are several people who have written me such incredible reviews I could print them out and use them as mega-self-esteem boosters.  Oh, god; I know the feeling.  That was why I was so insecure a few chapters ago- I had been reading some rather unskilled authors and it scared me that I was like them, so thanks incredibly much for alleviating my fears. Rants are fine, and I hoper this update meets with your approval!**

**Samson: Glad you like my characterizations, although I must admit that I don't think Harry will stay this way forever, since I *don't* happen to hate him.  Hope you don't hate that. Thanks for your comments, though.**

**Deu****: Thank you, and I am glad that you can wait.**

**Liquid Euphoria: The story made your day?  Wow, I'm glad that you like it!  **

**Evermind****: Don't worry, I will eventually complete this story, I just can't make any promises about when the updates will come, sorry. Please let me know if you received your update notice so I know it's working.  Glad you agree with my take it slow plot; I don't see a teacher student romantic relationship developing all that fast. **

**Eclectic Moone: Oh, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside (as my friend would say, that's probably the kittens I ate earlier.  He's odd****J)  I am so incredibly glad that you understand where I am coming from and what I am trying to write/get to; its cool explaining things, but knowing that some people get it is nice.  Hey, I'm all with the hypocriticalness, its all good**J And yeah, sometimes you need to take a break, and that's cool.  Hope you enjoy this chapter; its coming late not because I needed a break, but because I had no time to write.  If you miss chapters, would you want to be on my mailing list?  If not, that's cool, but it might make it easier on you if you wanted to continue following this story.****

**Anndy**** Malfoy: And so I do!  **


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**_Disclaimer: *Checks passport for identity*  Huh.  How strange.  I'm not JK Rowling.  So that must mean that…oh!  I don't own any of this.  Of course._**

**Er****, yes I suck beyond belief.  And I don't expect any one to still be reading this, but I'm posting it anyways.  I'm sorry?  Does that suffice at all?  There has been a lot of stuff going on in my life lately, including social stuff, school stuff, and a few creative pieces that bugged me to write them.  Fan fiction was relegated to the farthest corner of my mind, and I'm still not certain when and where I am going to find the time to write 5,000 words for my other fic.  But I will don't worry, because I promised that I won't abandon this fic, just that it may take a really long time sometimes to get the next chapter up.  I'm still trying to figure out the plot, and if you couldn't tell, I am new to writing very long fics and I find having to make a timetable rather difficult, so I am sorry, and as always, feel free to make any and all corrections and criticisms, please review, and above all, I hope you enjoy the continuation.  Avril Lavigne ought to be killed.  Thank you.  Oh, and of course, anyone who wishes to be informed of the next chapter, since y'all never known when the next one is coming, feel free to tell me in a review or email me at amariran@yahoo.com and I will add you to the email notification.  **

As The Seasons Decay, Chapter Thirteen

Severus Snape was rarely at a loss as to what to do in a situation.  When one is a spy, there is preparation for everything.  Encountering a sleeping child, nearly turning blue from the cold of the dungeons, was not one of them.  Still, he rose to the occasion.  Or he would, as soon as his feet began to move.  He shook himself invisibly, willing his brain to decide on a course of action.  He knew that he ought to take the easy way out.  The Death Eater way out; shout at the child till she woke up, abuse her verbally for her stupidity in falling asleep in such an ill-suited place, make random snide comments upon her person, friends, and House, and rush her off to bed with the loss of many tens of points.  Well, all right, admittedly Lucius would probably have managed to add rape and screwing with her mind in there, but his point still stood.  And then there was the other way, the thing he wanted to do.  Simply pick her up, return her to her rooms, and get some sleep himself.  There were some definite benefits to the second choice; lack of hassle being the most dominant.  But, as happened so often in his life, that nasty crone who calls herself Fate intervened and took the choice out of his hands.

            Hermione blinked her eyes open, wincing at the soreness from her scrubbing at them with the rough fabric of her robes.  The first thing she became aware of was that she was very, very cold.  The second was that there was a figure a few feet away from her, standing stock still in the dim lighting of the dungeons, just staring at her.  She could not make out the features of the person, aside from judging that they must be male from their general figure.  Her mind was too sluggish with the dregs of her interrupted and uncomfortable sleep to make the shift from dungeons to tall figure equal her dour professor, and instead began to race in circles and scream at the top of its lungs ' Slytherin, Slytherin!'  It was well known that meeting a male member of Slytherin house late at night anywhere was a bad idea, but in their own lair…Hermione nearly whimpered and backed herself against the slimy wall behind her.  But she was the Head Girl of Hogwarts, and she was damned if she was going to act like the damsel in distress in a bad muggle romance classic.  She took a deep breath and stood to face the figure, only just realizing that it had not moved since she had noted its presence with a soft squeak of surprise. 

            He stood motionless, watching her every emotion fly across her face, and at last settle into dread determination.  His vision was much sharper than hers and he had enough sensibility to realize that she thought him a member of his House, rather than the professor that he was.  Grand old Slytherin House, he thought with bitterness.  At last, he decided to alleviate her fears, and he cast a gradual _illuminata spell, allowing her eyes to adjust naturally to the increase of light until she could easily make out his features._

            "Prof-Professor Snape…" she stuttered, clearly trying to figure out how he was going to react to her being down there.  Next, he knew, she would vainly try to explain herself, irritate him, and then he could deduct some points and they could both go to their respective rooms and sleep until morning, like any other sane people.  Ah, but this was Miss. Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Head Girl, and active member of the Dream Team.  How unfortunate of him to forget.

            "Aside from your creeping about, *trying* to scare me, I want some answers.  You have absolutely no reason to dismiss me from what was evolving into a complex and vital project that might mean the turning point in the war against Voldemort; something that one man simply can NOT do alone.  You have every reason to keep me as your assistant.  I seek, of course, none of the credit; merely the knowledge that I am *doing* something.  I am a good worker, and a hard worker, regardless of what your tirade on my momentary, and may I repeat **momentary, lapse of concentration might have indicated.  You have been my professor for seven years- seven years- and yet you can not say that I am one of the best students that you have taught.  And I know I am, Professor, I know I am even if you never say it.  But that's fine; I lost the need to seek validation long ago.  What I want right now is the only chance I may have to protect my family and friends and world.  And if you deny me that chance, you condemn me to slow madness through the route that Harry has taken, sir."  Hermione stopped speaking suddenly, and looked at the man in front of her, who had yet to even twitch a muscle, aside from his casting the light spell.  His eyes searched hers for a moment, and she noted that he was not so moved by her as to drop that mask which held the emotions of his eyes from the rest of the world.  His gaze was piercing and disturbingly intense, and she held her breath without realizing it, dispelling it in one long soft sigh when he slowly nodded.**

            "I am tired, Miss. Granger.  You are tired.  You make some good points," an amazing concession for the arrogant Slytherin," but I have yet some valid concerns.  We will meet tomorrow, down here, to discuss our options as reasonable adults.  You will be expected to behave as such, girl, and one more outburst of the sort that you gave today and there will be no third chance offered.  In return, I will treat you with as much tolerance as you give me reason for.  Now, 15 points from Gryffindor for being out after curfew, and get up to your rooms.  I trust you can find your way back to them?"  Hermione was practically Locked into place in her astonishment.  Such grace, if condescending had hardly been looked for from her harsh professor, and she was ecstatic.  Still, she could see, if she looked harder than most people cared to look, that the man was almost falling over with fatigue and stress, and she knew better than to say anything other than 'yes, sir, thank you, sir' and scamper off down the darkish hallways to her safe rooms.  

            But when she had closed the door behind her and set the wards back up, and lit the room with a soft glow so that she could find her pyjamas…she let out an absolutely astonished shriek of happiness.  He had let her continue!!  She had survived yet another late night encounter with Snape; it seemed those were becoming more and more frequent as of late.  Even when she had tucked herself into her bed, with the soft down comforter covering her from feet to chin, her tired mind was racing with adrenaline and thoughts for their project that she had not let herself consider when she had been unsure if she would be allowed to continue in her capacity as an assistant.  For she had been telling Snape the truth about her indifference to receiving credit for the work that she knew, she just KNEW, was going to be important.  She was hardly cutting herself short, though; she was no fool and she knew it.  In a few years she planned on being a respected Mistress of whatever field she chose, with all the accolades that went with it.  She would do fine on her own.  With that last happy, perhaps conceited but nonetheless true, thought bouncing around in her mind, she drifted off into a far more comfortable sleep than the first time that night.              

            Morning saw Hermione Granger stumbling out of bed five minutes before breakfast was to start.  She hated Fridays, because although they heralded the coming weekend, they were also the busiest days, filled with interminable amounts of Head Girl work.  Her largest number of counseling and tutoring sessions were that day, as well as some of her heaviest classes.  She barely had a free hour from the time she awoke until the time she closed her eyes late at night, after an attempt to do as much of her large pile of weekend homework as possible.  And she was still dealing with the backlog from her unexpected week's hiatus from her responsibilities.  The Head Boy, a Ravenclaw named Carl Ervine, who was very nice, and quite smart, and an absolute bore to Hermione, had tried the best he could to take her share of the duties, but there were some things that he simply could not do.  Her counselees had told her that they would never go to him, and secretly, Hermione didn't blame them.  Plus, there was a Yule Ball coming up, and she knew that there were still rather a lot of details that she had to go over with the committee before they could submit them to Professor McGonagall.  

Her mind went through the checklist as she showered, drying herself with a spell (although it always left one feeling a bit clammy for the next few hours, and her hair would be the devil's own delight when she took it out of the knot she was currently wrestling it into), and shrugging into her school clothing as she grabbed her books and ran down to the Great Hall.  

She arrived only a few minutes after the meal began, and so managed to creep in with a few of the other latecomers.  She noted, although she had…certainly not been looking for him…that Harry had finished most of his breakfast already and was getting ready to leave; a habit he had recently taken to.  It was as though he thought that if he got to the Great Hall early and ate his meal quickly, then he wouldn't have to deal with being Harry Potter, the supposed savior of the wizarding world…a teenaged boy who didn't know what he was supposed to do, let alone what he *could*.  

Hermione snapped her gaze from her ex-friend to Professor Snape, who was seated complacently at the High Table and sipping his morning coffee with the same boredom that he did every other morning of the year.  She marveled at his composure, although it hardly surprised her.  The man probably survived on the fumes from scared Gryffindor first years, she thought uncharitably.  Hermione's charity of thoughts on Fridays was reserved for her counseling sessions, and she usually used up her entire supply.  She shoved the last bite of food into her mouth, waved at her Housemates, who had gradually gone back to at least acknowledging her existence, before heading off to her first class of the day. 

Advanced Charms was a fascinating class that delved into the more complex issues of the subject.  Professor Flitwick was a little late coming into the class, but his students had dutifully gotten out their books and parchment and had begun comparing homework answers, as they began every class.  The little wizard beamed and then directed the class's attention towards himself as he began a discussion on the reading they had done last night.  The troubles of the war lightened at least a bit as Hermione lost herself in academic discussion.  But by lunchtime, all of her realization of how foolish and unworthy it was to sit here in this stupid grand dining hall and eat luxurious food prepared by slaves and…  

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat, but all of her tablemates just carried on.  Ron was still with his family, and Harry had already left.  Just as Hermione was forced to do, because she didn't want to make a scene. 

She escaped the pressing air of the Great Hall and ran through the silent, deserted hallways as fast as she could to get to her private spot.  True, it was rather far away, but she hadn't eaten much lunch, so she should be able to get to her after-lunch class on time.  Right now, she just needed to be alone for a little while.  She burst into her rooms in a fairly short amount of time, and quickly wrenched the door to her balcony open.  

Then she stood, gazing at the peaceful grounds of her school as she took great gasps of air, both to give her lungs proper oxygen from her flat out run, something the bookworm was not well used to, and to control the emotions that had been threatening to bubble out of her at the lunch table.  She could just imagine what a scene that would have been; the perfect, always in control Head Girl Hermione Granger suffering a random breakdown in the middle of her Shepard's Pie.  Just imagine the glee from the Slytherin table, especially that ferret prick of a Draco Malfoy!  The thought of Draco as a bouncing ferret almost always made Hermione smile, and it did no less at that moment.  

Hermione chanced a glance to where she recalled Professor Snape's… area to be, but she had not expected him to be there and indeed he was not.  For a moment, she felt a twinge of guilt in the realization that she was far freer than he to take off in the middle of the day for some quite time for herself, but then she also knew that there were simply certain responsibilities that came with being an adult, and that was one of them.  

Hermione was thinking about all the things that had been plaguing her mind for a while now, as she let the pure, cold November air cleanse her thoughts, when she noticed something moving near the lake.  There seemed to be a person, which was rather strange.  She cast the time charm quickly and, indeed, it was still in the middle of lunch time.  No one but she and…Harry!  Hermione sharpened her vision with a temporary, but useful Eagle Eye charm that lasted long enough for her to discover two things.  Firstly, that the figure near the lake was not trying to drown himself, and secondly, it was none other than the ferret boy she had been thinking of before, one Draco Malfoy.  Knowing that the stupid fool would never do anything to harm a single hair on his own precious head, Hermione immediately dismissed the sight as being unworthy for her viewing and incredibly uninteresting.  She turned away and sought her peace in a different direction.

            Draco Malfoy wouldn't actually, although perhaps his enemies would hardly believe it of him, have cared that Hermione found him uninteresting.  He wished he could say the same for himself. If he was uninteresting, than maybe he would not have quite so many of those aforementioned enemies, and that seemed like a damned good thing at the moment.  He had managed to slip loose of Crabbe and Goyle for awhile, as there was little that could induce them to leave food, and Professor Snape had barely spared him a glance as he had slipped out of the Great Hall.  Draco knew better than to think that he was unobserved, but sometimes he wished… He laughed a bit bitterly.  While it was true that he probably wouldn't trade places with a Weasley, he sure thought that they had it easy sometimes.  Straight moral road, Dumbledore's benedictions showered everywhere, no crazy megalomaniac screaming for your blood and loyalty….

            Oh, yes.  Draco Bloody Malfoy did NOT actually want to become a Death Eater.  Hardly for any altruistic reasons, however, although he would not mind fighting on the other side so much.  But he was a Slytherin, and they did not do anything for one reason alone, let alone an unselfish one.  He had quite an agenda, in fact. The first thing on his list was his hatred of his father, and a general but heartfelt wish to see him dead. 

 Oh, in public his father showered him with gifts and praise, but behind the scenes there was an ugliness between father and son that he rather fancied was beyond a Weasley's- beyond _any Gryffindor's- imagination.  His father loathed him, plain and simple.  He was never good enough.  Draco Malfoy was almost the top of his class overall, __was the top of Slytherin, but he was not Head Boy and so he was not special enough.  He was better at most Dark Curses and Magick than most of Voldemort's _adult _recruits, but his father never seemed to find in him quite enough fascination and delight with the Dark Arts and torture and murder and mayhem as would befit the heir of the Malfoy name, may it rot in the seventh circle of hell in agony. _

 He had…trouble with human targets.  And then there was the fact that Draco did not wish to grovel at the feet of  the demented mold demon Dark Lord.  One thing he could say for Dumbledore was that the man treated his followers with decent respect.  The young heir of the family name and fortune had his _own_ ideas of what was befitting to a scion of the House of Malfoy.  Draco clenched his fists and stared out at the murky grey water.  The lake was not pretty in November.  And it was not a particularly nice day; after all, it was almost winter, and the water creatures had heeded Nature's warning and had already disappeared into warm and murky depths.  Only the tentacles of the giant squid occasionally broke the surface of the rollicking lake.  

Every so often, in a methodical rhythm, a wave would sweep his feet, and he would think about casting a charm to dry himself, but by the time he had decided that it would be a good idea, yet another one had already drenched his feet and the long black cloak that trailed from his body.  So maybe he would get a bloody cold.  He'd live.  Or rather, he would take a nice dose of Pepper-Up potion and be fine.  He had never understood how Muggles managed to get along with life when every little thing was a problem, like colds.  If he realized that he was sending his mind on random tangents in the vain hope of avoiding the problems that were really troubling him, like that of the choice between disobeying his father and giving his conscience something of a reprieve but most likely being slowly tortured to death for his betrayal, and becoming a twisted sycophant like his sire, bowing and scraping and murdering on command, he would have told himself to fuck off- he was having a nice illusion, thank you very much.       

**Done at last.****  All right, hope you liked it and all.  I really do appreciate any and all reviews, even one liners, although those with a bit more substance are quite enjoyed as well.  Review replies:**

**Michelline****:  And I'm very glad.  Thanks for the praise.**

**Sarah F.: Oh my goodness, I hope that you didn't get bored and stop reading before you hit this part, but goodness do I know what it's like to be reading fanfiction in the wee hours of the morning, and so I than thee ever so much for posting a review.  **

**Andrian****:  Glad you like it.  Ah, yes, peace.  I'm eating in my room in a [vain] attempt to get some of that.  Hope you found, and continue to find, some.**

**Katieshaz****:  So glad, thank you.**

**Fairy Thimbles: Always happy to clarify things, hope you are still reading, and thank you very much for telling me that you are getting the notification emails.**

**Madeleine Jete: Oh, gosh, yes I ought to be doing work as well.  Phooey on that!  Good luck on the revisions, thank you for the help…I ought to change it, but I can't seem to find the will.  Perhaps I will soon *snort*.  Right, this is coming from the girl who wrote her paper at one in the morning.  Yes, I have problems with long paragraphs, please try and tell me if I do it again this time too, and then I will try very hard to stop, and if you aren't still reading, I totally understand.  And you wouldn't be reading this…**

**Princesskatt****: Thank you, although I fear that this was really a doozy of a stop for someone who isn't writing a masterpiece of a fic, like Kaz or someone.  Oh, don't worry, my muses are generally nice to everyone except me.  Sorry that he didn't, but he did rather think about it.  Yes, I am trying to add action, and I think there will be more later.  Uh-oh, now the muses are sending *me* death glares!  Thanks for the review.**

**JediHermione****:  Hm, I really don't mean to be making Harry out of character, I keep trying to explain *why* he is the way he is…out of canon, perhaps, but he has changed so much.  Still, I thank you for the comment and promise you that he is far from irredeemable.**

**Cosmo-Queen: Oh, my goodness, I feel so loved and so ashamed for taking so long for writing this fic!  But flippancy aside, I really appreciate that you took the time to tell me what it was that you liked about my story, it makes me feel quite happy, and I am glad that you are enjoying this.  And thank you for understanding my writing troubles, also *smile*.  If you are ever looking for some really excellent fanfiction, I am very into HP fanfiction and have a mental storelist of my favorite stories (although most are, of course, SS/HG!), so feel free to email and ask.  Storelist isn't a word.  Huh.  Well, thanks and I hope that you liked this chapter as well.**

**Daxi****: Right, I must admit that I got a bit carried away with the torture and mayhem bits, and I am not sure whether I ought to change the rating on this story, although I saw a PG-13 movie the other day, and it was more gruesome than my little story…*smile*.  Glad that you like it otherwise.  **

**Alexial****: Hehe, she's not the little goody Gryffindor, any more, is she?  Hopefully not too far removed than what JKR might have written, after all, Hermione is now…17 or 18 or 19, I don't know that I've decided yet.  Somewhere there, and her old awe of her teacher is somewhat diminished along with her working along side of him.  The specificities of the potion may not be something that I want to go into for fear of sounding like a fool, but I've stated that it is something to reverse the immortality potion that used Harry's Blood and restored Voldemort after the Triwizard Tournament.  And as for Dumbledore's knowing about Harry's descent into darkness, hm.  Well, Harry isn't dark, he's just not light and he certainly isn't a very nice person at the moment.  And I don't think that Dumbledore is either fully aware, or fully oblivious to it.  Hope I helped you out with your questions, always feel free to ask them.  Thank you!**

** MadMonkette: Thank you****J!   **

**Evermind****:  Ah, thanks for the email, and the compliments!  **


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**_Disclaimer: As I haven't undergone any sort of plastic surgery, I'm still pretty much the opposite of what J.K. Rowling looks like, so I'd have to be pretty damned stupid to pretend that anything more than the plot of this particular story is mine. _**

****

**Okay, so I had this finished a few days ago, but life has been crazy.  I have nothing but apologies for my half a year absence from this story, but can make no promises as to its not happening again.  I hope it won't, and will try to make sure, but we can't always make the muses come when we want them, or stop them when we're too busy to write.  Therefore, my only promises are that I will definitely finish this story eventually, that if you email me at amariran@yahoo.com or tell me in your review, I will email you with notification of updates, and that if you review, my muses will do lovely happy-dances and I will be eternally grateful for all positive, negative, and indifferent feedback.  Replies at bottom, as always.  Please, enjoy reading.**

**As The Seasons Decay Chapter Fourteen**

Hermione discreetly cast a time charm once more.  Three whole seconds since the last time she had checked; and that was two more than the time before!  Nervous was an understatement beyond belief.  Despite her momentary respite from the tension of the school, the majority of her day had been spent wading through undertones that every one else seemed too afraid to give in to and dealing with all of the things that her Fridays always brought up.  

Although it had crossed her mind to turn down being Head Girl, for fear of the workload (and she had hardly been wrong about the additional work) the prestige and the difference that she had hoped to make within the school had made her take the position.  She did enjoy some aspects of it; a bit of a control freak, Hermione liked having the power to plan school functions and such, but on days like this, nothing seemed to make it worthwhile except her room.  At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw her befuddling Transfiguration text to the floor and run up to the aforementioned room and curl up in her bed, but she knew better than that.  

            A small sigh on her right corresponded exactly with her own, and she looked around to find out who else was as unsettled as she was.  Surprisingly enough, Draco Malfoy met her eyes for a split second, an unguarded moment where she would have sworn she had seen _humanity_ in them.  But, no, they had changed back, now the slick grey pupils of the slithering Slytherin slime she had come to loathe over the years at Hogwarts.  He had never once treated her with any decent respect.  Even when his family should have taken a beating with his father in Azkaban, gold and promises of power had whisked Lucius out of jail.  He was soon back in the bosom of his family- and the bosom of Voldemort, she was certain.  

Still, Hermione could not help but consider the boy who had been out on the cold day by the stormy water.  That was not the place for young pricks during lunch time; he should have been laughing it up at the Slytherin table over Hermione's 'illness' and the subsequent break-up of the Gryffindor Trio.  He should have been anywhere but looking small and vulnerable.

Hermione had never been able to help herself from trying to save the weak, as it was ingrained in her nature, but she did NOT want Draco to be one of those that needed saving.  After all, what was the world coming to if even your worst enemy couldn't be trusted to act like it?  And she had to admit, she had not heard much from him this year.  Oh, he still tossed the occasional tired taunt her and Ron and Harry's way, but they seemed more out of habit than anything else.  

No one else had noticed…no, that wasn't quite true either.  She was sure that Professor Snape, and probably the Headmaster, knew all about Draco and his uncharacteristic silence this year.  He was probably, she thought, worried that he wouldn't be absolutely fucking perfect when it came to his Death Eater…tests, or whatever the hell they were.  Yeah, that was it.  The little shit was just concerned that he wouldn't be the best little sycophant his daddy could raise.  She sneered at the boy sitting a few rows down from her, and turned away before she was able to see his response.  She didn't care what Draco Malfoy felt or thought, she decided.  She just wanted to turn this damned frog into a lamp. 

Her goal was at last accomplished, but tension remained.  Tension and that strange feeling that she kept getting every time she happened to glance at Draco.  She had better things to do with her time than worry about snooty little bastards, though, so she ignored her feelings and continued counting down the hours till her visit to the dungeons tonight.  It was nearing dinner time, and she had only a couple of counseling sessions to deal with, and her homework…as much as she could get done, anyways.  Hermione sighed and dug in to her work as tenaciously as she ever had, even if her heart wasn't really in it for once.  After all, theoretical magick just didn't seem to matter all that much if they were all going to end up dead or enslaved by Voldemort…

Harry Potter.  Harry Potter.  Harold.  James.  Potter.  Of Godric's Hollow.  Son of James and Lily Potter, née Evans.  That was who he was.  He had been repeating such phrases in his head for the past few years in a vain attempt to a keep a sense of identity, but he was slipping away faster and faster, into a maelstrom of depravity and blackness.  

Harry teetered at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, where he had wandered, lost in his thoughts.  He didn't even realize his precarious position until a voice broke through the war in his head.  A voice and a cool, pale hand that pulled at him until he was once again standing on the firm flagstones that had been part of the castle since it was built, and were as unshakable as what he had always been told the Light side of the war was. 

 But was what he had been told the truth?  That was the quandary he had been facing for so long, battling with morals he hadn't been taught about until the age of eleven.  He fought an even worse battle with the loyalty he had given, the loyalty that had been betrayed by the man who had put the fate of the world on his shoulders and then confined him to what amounted to a prison, in the form of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Just the thought of those twinkling, calm, omniscient but ever-so-blind blue eyes…  And Harold James Potter of Godric's Hollow, born of James and Lilly Potter née Evans **snapped.**

Fists flew, curses and sweat and bits of black fabric that had moments ago been standard school robes littered the air and blood flowed onto the tatters of the school uniforms underneath.  Both gave as good as they got; an even match of strength and will and pure undiluted frustration with a situation that had **no solution**.  Wands had not even entered the melee; both had chosen the ages old male tradition of beating the absolute shit out of someone just because they _could_.

Minutes later, hours later…it was dark.  And the flagstones were almost pooled with blood.  Both fighters paused just long enough to regain breath, to nurse wounds too severe to continue with.  And in that minute their eyes locked and they knew that it hadn't been about the fight, hadn't even been about the years-old enmity between them.  

"Where the fuck'd my wand go?" Harry demanded brusquely, if more to himself than to the thin boy who was still trying to catch his breath.  Harry was having difficulty finding his wand, though it was only a few feet away, because of the blood that was poring down his face from a particularly vicious scrape.  The other boy, having regained his ability for coherent speech, straightened though still in pain and pointed it out.  Once Harry had found it, and cleared up the blood on his face enough to see, he turned around for a glance at his nemesis.  And brown eyes went wide with horror.

"Holy SHIT!  I've…I've _never_…" his voice was soft and horrified and pleading and contrite and tinged with just a little bit of male pride.

"I have."  Quiet words, but carrying the weight of the world as the speaker studied the dark-haired boy opposite him.  And for once, the expression on Draco Malfoy's face didn't make Harry want to slug him.

It hadn't been painless but then, she had hardly expected it to be.  Snape had been caustic, Snape had been hard, but even _he was forced to admit that there was more point to her continuing as his assistant.  Even if she _did_ annoy him, even if he __did have to make certain allowances for her age and inexperience.  Hermione had gritted her teeth and taken the insults, but by the end of their discussion tonight, she had felt as though they were merely rote insults, like Draco's over the past year…  _

Damn it!  Why did all of her thoughts keep circling back to Malfoy?  Hermione would have liked to tell herself that it was only because he presented an aberration to the House of Slytherin, and perhaps he did if one were to look solely at his year, who were mostly a loathsome, ugly, and dull-witted bunch.  Still, there were plenty of Slytherins that she had encountered in her counseling sessions that weren't all that bad…she even liked some of them, when they weren't around their Housemates.  And there was Snape, too.  

Something kept pestering her mind about the similarities between Draco and Snape.  Oh, not physically, for Malfoy was ice-prince gorgeous and Snape the quintessential careless academic…although she was forced to admit that there _was _something similar in the arrogant way they carried themselves.  Still, they were most alike where no one usually cared to look; inside the minds of two of the most disliked people at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  And since Snape had been allowed redemption, had been given a second chance and an opportunity to make the world right, Hermione felt as though the turmoil inside Draco that she had caught the barest glimpse of deserved that same opportunity.  

Then Hermione snorted.  No, she really had no idea of what the kid wanted, and though she had always promised herself that she would keep an open mind about people, she was pretty sure that unless Draco came knocking on her door, she'd find it difficult to believe that he had changed.

As Hermione neared her room, she pondered whether to go to her rooms or her 'hide-out', as it were.  But she finally decided that it would be too indulgent to utilize her special place more than once a day.  She walked to her rooms and took down the wards.  Stepping inside the room gave Hermione Granger one of the biggest shocks of her life.  

            Familiar slick blond hair was juxtaposed with equally familiar black locks in their customary disarray.  Hermione stood in the doorway of her room, thick wooden door slowly swinging shut behind her, both blocking her way out and pushing her further into the room.  She wasn't quite certain what to think.  Him…and _him…and they were….and it was __those two!?  Who would have __ever thought?_

            Sitting on her bed, heads bent so close together they nearly touched, Draco Malfoy, ferret prick extraordinaire, and Harold Potter, ex-boyfriend from hell, seemed to be reading a book together.  Christ, as if that wasn't a big enough surprise.  Then she looked closer and realized that it was a copy of some Quidditch manual Harry had given her a few weeks after they had started going out, in the vain hope that she would develop a sudden passion for the sport that fed one of the few dreams he had ever had.  An even closer, if still shocked, look revealed that the two weren't so much sitting quietly and enjoying companionship and a good book, but arguing like little boys.  

After a moment, where Hermione'e entrance to her own room still hadn't been noted, their argument, unsolved, escalated to the point where they began to jostle each other, as though in a ridiculous attempt to prove their manliness by knocking the other off the bed.

            Hermione's eyes narrowed in that time old movement of disciplinarians world wide; the expression that lets you know you're really in for it.  And, once in a lifetime occasion or not, the two boys had broken into her room and now looked as though they were about to tear it apart in the no-holds barred brawl she had always feared their enmity would come to.  Little did she know.

            Just as the nudging began to verge from unfriendly to violent, Draco winced.  Just once, just slightly, but it set Harry right back to that moment, hours, minutes, seconds ago, when he had stood on a stone parapet in November and watched the boy he'd thought his enemy nearly die from wounds he had inflicted himself.  

He froze, swiftly and suddenly, trapped in memories of his own, violence and pain and fear, the emotions that had constituted most of his life.  And, as though connected, Draco stopped too; turned to Harry and frowned, first in confusion and then…almost…almost as though he could empathize with the emotional Siberia Harry was caught in.  Watching this all, still from several feet away, still unnoticed, Hermione cleared her throat and broke the spell.  Any thoughts of fight, or even of empathy, flew from the minds of both. 

            Harry was the first to look up.  At once, his face held the sort of little boy hope she had seen only a few times, like their first year, when he had gazed at her and Ron as thought almost unable to believe that he really had friends.  And then even that bit of innocence faded, replaced by harsh lines, fatigue, more understanding of pain and suffering than he had had the day before.  Hermione almost wanted to close her eyes against it, but hurtful words hurled at her and ostracism from her own House, led by him, allowed her to steel herself against the empathy that came naturally to her.

            "What the hell are you doing in my room?  Both of you!"  Her voice was sharp, and accompanied by a look arrowed at both boys.  Adult as they were, they couldn't help but shift almost sheepishly, especially as they saw her gaze change with the knowledge of their various wounds.  "So it finally happened, huh?"  Silence answered her question.  They all knew what she meant, anyways.  

Hermione did close her eyes this time, knowing that these wounds would be some of the cleanest she would be facing in the war times ahead.  She had learned special incantations and potions and everything, but nothing academic could tell her of the harsh reality of a bloody wound, a broken bone.  And worst of all was the truth that this tiff, brutal as it seemed to her, was so far less harsh than a reality that she sensed both boys had seen, that she herself would soon be introduced to.  

            Granger wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, though.  A deep breath and a gathering wave of her wand and she started in on the two.  She quickly assessed wounds and catalogued and prioritized; everything but think about the type of frustration and anger that would make two human beings do things like this to each other.  

She didn't know whether to be glad or annoyed at the hasty healings they had done to themselves, or to each other.  It certainly made her job more difficult, as she had to undo everything in order to heal them properly, but she had a rather eerie feeling that they would have…_died without their rough medical treatments.  _

Finally, sweat dripping from her forehead in a most unattractive way, Hermione sat back on her heels and viewed her impromptu patients.  Nothing had been spoken other than 'put your foot here' and 'is this broken?'  The tension of the room changed quickly, from that of a sick room to something more like the principal's office.  

            "Talk."  Hermione was quiet, but so insistent that neither boy considered denying her.  They sensed that she wasn't about to tattle on them; the old Hermione might have, but the girl who had come back to Seventh Year with a solid understanding of what it meant to be in a state of war was far different from the Know it All of their youth.  In addition, they were deep in her debt for her medical knowledge and skill.

            A few minutes of discourse and Hermione had the gist of the situation.  Several more and she had almost more understanding of the psyche of either young man than she had perhaps ever wished to have.  Still, it was something.  And that something was enough to galvanize Hermione into action.  In Fifth Year they had played around a little, learning Dark Defenses and even some curses, but the situation was even worse than they had thought it would be.  Hermione knew that defense had ceased to be enough many months ago.  She wanted to question Draco so much, wanted to prove to all of them that he was loyal, but one look in his eyes told her that his grip on what it meant to be on the other side of the fight was tenuous enough that any sign of mistrust might break it, and the Light simply couldn't afford that.  Instead, she sat down with the now physically whole Seventh Years and began to make a plan.          

**Your reviews really do keep me going, and remind me that there is a reason other than evil demanding muses for my writing:**

**A hearty, sweet of choice filled thanks to: Fritti (you kicked me into remembering this story), Sweetevangeline (oh, how I know those two am reading binges!), XxphenixX (not sure where I plan to take anything, just hope that I get there *grin*.  If you can, tell me if you get the email update for this.  Thanks!), FifthOctave (Yes, I know it seemed out of character, and I'm glad you recognized my sad attempt to give credence to a situation which apparently was more clear in my mind than my story.  And as for number of chapters, well, as many as it takes to get the job done, hehe), Addisonrae (I'm both thankful and flattered by the praise!), Tashie (Glad you find it intriguing!), Ezmerelda (Always nice to hear from a fellow WIKTTer, as well as that there was a purpose for my doing the links.  I'm sorry that I didn't update soon****L  I hope you are still reading this, and that you still like my character portrayals *giggle*), Gagmewithasp0rkx (lovely sn you have there!  I am ever so pleased that you rushed through work to read this, as well as that you did the work (see, cause I so often don't…). Yes, I love ****France**** and the language and such; I've been taking it for about 7 years now.  If you like that all, then you might like my other story, Joke's On Her, which can be found by clicking on my author's profile above.  Sorry, shameless little self plug there.), Heavenstone (Your praise makes me blush, and hope that I'm even remotely worthy of it.  Thanks, by the way, for mentioning the lengthy paragraphs; I've gotten that before, and often try to watch it, but forgot to.  I went back and made them shorter.  And incidentally, I've written paragraphs of 1,000 words, so don't worry about *your's* being too long; the longer the review, in general, the happier I am), Mashnut (Thanks for the praise, and Harry is neither uptight, nor, though he seems it, a 'girl chasing idiot'; though first presented as such, I have tried to create the feeling later in the story of a very confused, very hurt boy in a very harsh reality.  Hopefully this chapter helps that image; if it doesn't, I'd love it if you'd tell me what I'm doing wrong!), Cosmo-Queen (Both your email and this review made me so happy, but unfortunately were received at a time when my life had just gotten incredibly crazy, and so I, very badly, replied to neither.  Please accept my heartfelt apologies for this!  The specific things you point out that you like absolutely make my day.  And yes, the 'softer side of Snape' will be developing, though I am unsure as to whether or when it will fully emerge.  I am so pleased that I managed to create empathy for Draco, I was trying to get that without too much pity; as you can see from this chapter (I Hope!), I find him a cross between Snape and Harry.  I can't wait to find out where he fits into the picture, either, hehe.  Oh, the loathed exams.  Mid-terms but a few months away, but we aren't thinking of that, now are we?  Hope you did well on yours****J  Your praise was incredibly sweet and detailed, which, again, makes me actually believe it.  We're all our own worst critics, eh?  Speaking of which; have more faith in your own writing; I just read Sonnets for Sirius and it was quite good.  I'm not a huge fan of parodies, but to each his own, and those content with their genre are truly awesome people.  Oh, I take that all back.  Er, the first part of it, I mean.  After reading your version of Chapter 37 of OotP, I find that I enjoy parodies, at least yours, quite a bunch.  Also, a sudden recollection, Minerva McGonogall's parody of Riley's PTQ is rather marvelous as well.  One pages reviews are fine, but your email was friendly, open, and perfectly interesting; I'm such a curious person, and I can but thank you for writing it and again beg pardon for my sorry lack of efficacy in correspondence matters.  Also, hope you don't mind this ever so long parenthetical thank you…), Shaneen (Hope you got my update email, glad you liked this story so much, and also hoping that you still are enjoying this story!), Madeleine Jete (Gosh, I don't know…have I lost you after all this time?  Hope your exams went well…wait…didn't we already go over this, in reviews/replies of Joke's On Her?  Too tired to recall.  Glad there was surpise, not of the unpleasant sort, with the introduction of Draco into the story.  Hoping this chapter goes over well; and also, thanks for reminding me about the paragraphs; your comments coupled with another's made me go back and change the previous chapter and to be very careful with this one.  I hope.  Thanks!).        **


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